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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672363">Unarranged</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserchic/pseuds/loserchic'>loserchic</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Teen Wolf (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha Derek, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arranged Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Imprinting, M/M, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Prince Derek Hale, Touch-Starved</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 04:41:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,190</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25672363</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/loserchic/pseuds/loserchic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In a modern kingdom, Prince Stiles Stilinski is considered the world's most desirable omega. As ruler of the politically critical principality of Longfire, for the last two years Stiles has been relentlessly pursued through the courts by two alpha princes of neighboring principalities, both claiming they have imprinted on him. Stiles, a brilliant and calculating diplomat, has been running his principality since he was fifteen and has always known his mating would be politically motivated. Stiles doesn't believe either of the alpha princes have actually imprinted on him, and are just looking to gain clout through the marriage. However, when a crisis breaks out internationally, Stiles agrees to enter into a probationary union with Prince Derek Hale-- provided Hale can deliver on his political promises. Derek has been desperately in love with Stiles from afar for years and is shocked to discover the omega has no illusions about the two of them having any real attachment to each other. Can Derek convince Stiles his bond to the omega is real, or will Stiles change his mind and mate with a political rival?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>147</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>378</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Three Princes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Is there a reason you’re trying to sell him to me as if he is a particularly historic piece of property?” The omega crown prince of Longfire, Stiles Stilinski’s honey-colored eyes are gazing at Lydia derisively over a silver tea cup, as an early morning breeze wafts through the terrace outside of the prince’s bedchamber. </p><p>The principality of Longfire, the most politically significant and internationally influential of the five united principalities that make up the country of Middlegreen, employs no less than a dozen royal songwriters and ministreals at one time, all of whom have used Prince Stiles as a muse regularly since the omega’s birth 19 years earlier. In fact, so renowned is Prince Stiles’s starlit skin, rich, shining hair, and aforementioned honey eyes, Longfire’s prince is a frequent feature in the ballads and stories of the ministreals of the other four Middlegreen principalities as well. At the moment, Lydia is staring into a laptop wondering sourly how the songs will go on for verses and verses about Stiles’ smell (apparently comparable to the breath of angels) and lovely bone structure (stunning enough to make the stags of the forests pause and take notice,) and yet to somehow always leave out his sarcasm and the the fact that he isn’t a morning person. </p><p>“Well,” Lydia takes a breath. “Real estate usually makes you happy. And as far as property goes-- he’s not a bad investment.” </p><p>“That doesn’t negate the fact that I was hoping to rent before I buy.” Stiles sniffs, setting down his tea. </p><p>“By which you mean you were hoping to never buy,” Lydia smiles, understandingly. </p><p>Stiles’ sharp eyes catch the knowing sympathy in his friend’s gaze and Lydia watches him bristle. He looks through the silk curtains of the canopy, over to the view of the ocean. His eyes really are lovely, she thinks, even if they are usually overrun with brilliantly chaotic thoughts and irritation at the world’s general inability to keep up with his brain. The Middlegreen and international presses always brandish Stiles as the most beautiful omega to appear in the society pages since his young and famously beautiful mother, Princess Claudia died fifteen years ago in an automobile accident. The gossip rags are filled with speculation about the omega’s supposed trysts with famous alphas and nothing sells more tabloids than headlines about Stiles’ potential mates. But Lydia, like all of Stiles’ closest and dearest friends, knows Stiles’ personality isn’t suited to the glitz and glamour of the international social scene. With strong diplomatic ties to Israel, the United States, and China, Stiles’ principality, Longfire, has always been critically important to international politics. Stiles has grown up learning the strategically pivotal role his principality plays in the world. After nearly twenty years of meetings, intense study, and international travel, Prince Stiles is a serious young omega with a head for numbers and a sixth sense for strategy. </p><p> </p><p>Lydia watches him sigh, the beautiful embroidered tunic flying open at his neck in the breeze in a way that probably shouldn’t be considered all together proper given that she is an alpha, but she has known Stiles for such a long time, she feels almost like an older sister than the heir to a neighboring principality. </p><p> </p><p>“Why couldn’t you have married me, sweet Lydia?” Stiles smiles as if bemused, his eyes far away. “I would have been good for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a bold-faced lie if I ever heard one,” Lydia laughs, but then she smiles sympathetically at Stiles. “Even if I hadn’t taken my own mate two years ago, my dearest, you know your court would have never even considered my suite next to Halebryne and Churchaste. Matrinsdale would have nothing to offer a principality like yours. Halebryne has the military and Churchaste controls the economy.” She sighs. “And it’s just your luck that both of them have very eligible alpha princes who are trying to claim the right of imprint on you.” Lydia watches Stiles’ eyes darken and his lips thin. “That makes you angry,” She says, noting his expression.</p><p> </p><p>“They’re liars,” Stiles says darkly. </p><p> </p><p>“What?” She asks, slightly bemused at his omega dramatics. “You think both Prince Derek Hale and Prince Michael Westly Church are lying about imprinting on you? Both of them?”</p><p> </p><p>“Of course they are,” Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes. “Think about it. The day I turned eighteen, we’re all sitting around eating cake like the next year and a half of my life isn’t going to be a nightmare, when we find out via emergency phone call the from Corsair, Halebryne has filed an official petition with the Middlegreen parliament to claim rights of mating and marriage to me because their heir apparent, Derek Hale apparently imprinted on me when we met as children ten years ago.” Stiles sighs. “Of course, Churchaste, like Halebryne, has been eyeing an alliance with Longfire for since my birth, so they file a conflicting petition with the parliament four hours later claiming they have equal (if not stronger,) claim because their heir apparent, Michael Westly Church, imprinted on me two years earlier than Derek, when we apparently met during a spring festival at your court, Princess Lydia.” Stiles sighs. </p><p> </p><p>“Well, you did meet Church and Hale at those times as children,” Lydia shrugs, reasonably. “It could have happened.” </p><p>Stiles laughs. “Right,” he snorts, “Of course both Halebryne and Churchaste have produced doctors swearing that the young alpha princes both are imprinted to me on a chemical level, all the while knowing the sexist, old fashioned parliament loves these inane stories of alphas imprinting on omegas at young ages.” Stiles snorts. “Unnecessary garbage.” He narrows his eyes. “I don’t love that whoever my future mate is, he intends to start our marriage based on a lie. Like I’m stupid. Like I’d fall for that romantic garbage.”</p><p> </p><p>“I highly doubt either of those princes think you’re stupid,” Lydia sighs. “Anyways, if it is a lie-- and I’m not saying it is-- it’s not a lie for you. It’s a lie for the parliaent.” She shakes her head. “Longfire may not have the military or the economic centers, but it is vital to maintaining power in Middlegreen and the world. You’d tell a lie like that too if it meant maintaining political dominance.” </p><p> </p><p>“It’s not political dominance that I mind,” Stiles sighs. “Have you seen them, Hale and Church? The way they stare at me--” Stiles frowns in distaste. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m an alpha,” Lydia says, “I’ve seen them a great deal more than you have.”</p><p> </p><p>“And?” Stiles asks, his pert eyes staring at her as if they are trying to glean every last fact from her head. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve given you my opinion,” Lydia sighs. “Church is little more than noise. His father is clever, but I see none of Henry Church’s brilliance in Michael. He’s kind and good natured enough-- likely easy to control once Henry is dead, but little else. Still, being easy to control is nothing to sniff.” </p><p> </p><p>Stiles knows this, he’s heard Lydia’s reports on both princes many times. </p><p> </p><p>“Hale is harder to read,” Lydia says. “I have great respect for his mother and sisters. His father is an omega. Derek has a reputation for being cold, clinical. He’s excelled at every kind of warfare his tutors and masters have thrown at him. The only time I’ve ever seen him show any kind of emotion is towards Church. He hates Michael with an intensity I’ve never seen.” She pauses. “He asks about you.”</p><p> </p><p>Stiles frowns. He always does whenever they talk about either of his suitors. “So you’ve said,” the prince says dryly. </p><p> </p><p>“He knows we’re close,” Lydia says. “Ever since my mating I’ve had to spend more time with the alpha heirs and Derek always asks about your health.” </p><p> </p><p>Stiles’ frown deepens. “And what do you tell him?” </p><p> </p><p>“That you are deep in study and all of your thoughts and energies are with your subjects,” Lydia says. </p><p> </p><p>“Of course,” Stiles nods. This is true. </p><p> </p><p>“But I tell him when you do find a rare occasion to smile, none of the songs or poems dedicated to your beauty and grace do you justice,” Lydia says. She watches Stiles roll his eyes, but smile at her words. “Last time I saw him was at the New Year’s festival in Hale’s own court. He sought me out in the early hours of the morning on a balcony, overlooking the gardens as fireworks went off in the distance. I think he was a little drunk,” She smiles. “He said to me, ‘Maybe one day the little jewel will smile at me as I have seen him smile at you.’” </p><p> </p><p>She watches Stiles’ eyes go somewhere far away. “If he can give me Tura, I’ll smile for him as much as he wants.”  </p><p> </p><p>“You’ve decided Halebryne is your best bet, then?” Lydia asks. </p><p> </p><p>“I’ve run the numbers,” Stiles frowns. “Halebryne has the capabilities of giving me the leverage I need within the next twelve months. Churchaste will take nearly twice as long to win me the same gains.” He sighs. “I’m sure Churchaste will try to hold up the mating in parliament, but if Halebryne gives me the strategic gains I need within the next few months, I’ll tell Hale I will testify before parliament that my desire is to mate with him fully. There isn’t much they can do to stop our union after that.” </p><p> </p><p>“He’s going to demand an heir from you within a year after that,” Lydia says, looking wary. “He’d want one written into the contract now if he thought he could get away with it.” </p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” Stiles says and again she watches her friend’s eyes go somewhere else again. </p><p> </p><p>“Fine?” Lydia’s eyes widen. </p><p> </p><p>“I’m not naive, Princess,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “The point of all of this ridiculous lying and posturing is to get an heir. Longfire will need one as well.” </p><p> </p><p>“And you’re okay with that,” Lydia asks. “With touching him?”</p><p> </p><p>Stiles looks a little irritated and embarrassed. “It’s why I was born, wasn’t it?”</p><p>She watches him busy his hands again with his paperwork. She stands up and walks over to him, wordlessly laying a hand on his shoulder. He stills for a moment before leaning against her hip, pressing his face to her, miserably. She pets his hair maternally, silently trying to comfort this omega who tries so hard not to need anyone or anything. She rubs soothing circles on his miserable back, desperately wanting to tell him she won’t let anyone hurt him, that he’ll be okay, all the while knowing she can make no such promises. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Purpose of this Marriage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The alpha is supposed to speak first. This is common knowledge. This is tradition-- something as ingrained and practical as looking both ways before you cross the street. The alpha is supposed to approach first, to speak first, to set the tone. And Derek isn’t just an alpha-- he’s the alpha.</p><p>Are you this beautiful when you sleep? He thinks. Or are you even more beautiful at rest? No, that’s impossible. It can’t be possible for you to be more beautiful than you are now, with the afternoon sun playing across the creamy skin on the inside of your delicate wrist. Will you let me touch you there? Will you let me kiss you? There, like that-- or anywhere you want. Anywhere you’ll let me. For as long as you’ll let me. You’re frowning. How long have I been staring at you and what am I supposed to say to you when what I want is to murder Michael Westly Church and every member of parliament for putting paperwork and politics and minutes and days and years between you and me? When you should have been mine a year and a half ago. Don’t they know I’ve been yours since you were nine?</p><p>Whenever Derek is apart from Stiles, which, because Derek’s life is cruel and unbelievably inhumane, has been most of the time for the last ten years, he tells himself there is no possible way any omega-- even the famously beautiful Stiles Stilinski-- can be even a fraction as appealing as the blogs and tabloids and Derek’s own memories say the omega is. Derek tells himself it’s just ten years of imprinting, while at the same time being denied his rightful mate that has him feeling this insane about Stiles. Had Derek imprinted on a “normal” omega, the omega would have been brought to the Halebryne court to grow up with Derek in the lap of luxury. However, Stiles was the heir to the most diplomatically important throne in the world and therefore had obviously not been allowed to be claimed by Derek until he became older and even then, parliament would have to approve Derek’s claim.</p><p>Derek and Stiles are seated on a private terrace in the Martin’s chateau in Corsair, the neutral capital city of Middlegreen. This is a secret meeting in politically neutral ground and although Derek can’t see their host, he’s certain Princess Lydia is lurking somewhere within calling distance, watching him like a hawk. For years he’d carried hate and resentment for the Martin Princess, certain in his jealous paranoia she had also imprinted on Stiles and was allowed to be closer to the omega than Derek ever had been. Derek’s view on Lydia had softened a lot after she mated a different omega a few years ago.</p><p>His omega is looking at him expectantly, Stiles’s bright eyes, bright and beautiful like the starry diamonds Derek longs to adorn his beloved mate with at his court, gaze up at him, wide with what is likely exasperation.</p><p>“Thank you for agreeing to see me like this, Regia Stiles,” Derek says, using the formal title for an unmated omega.</p><p>Stiles sniffs as if the omega is translating “like this” to “at all.” He purses his pretty lips at, Regia.</p><p>The omega beckons a woman over Derek recognizes as the head of Stiles’ staff. The woman hands Stiles a leather document pouch. The omega takes out a handful of documents and sets them on the table between them as if they’re unpaid bills and equally as welcome.</p><p>“I am in receipt of your petition of mating and marriage and your claim by ‘right of imprinting’ as pursuant to Omega Prince Stiles Genim Stilinski, Duke of Firesborn, High Prince of Middlesgreen, and Heir Apparent to the Sovereign Throne at Longsfire, filed April 8th, 2018 in Corsair, Middlesgreen,” Stiles looks up at him. “Am I given to understand your petition is still active and indeed has been escalated, Prince Derek?”</p><p>Derek blinks at him. The omega is speaking to him about their mating and marriage as if calmly discussing an insurance claim, as if this whole thing hasn’t been the first thing Derek’s been thinking about every morning and the last thing he thinks about before going to bed each night for the last two years.</p><p>“Yes,” He says, nearly choking on the words. “Yes, the amount of time parliament has taken in adjudicating this has been outrageous.”</p><p>“I see,” The omega drops the remaining files on to the stack of papers between them with a definitive thud. He looks at Derek, his lovely honey eyes are cold, not dancing or smiling the way they always are in pictures the paparazzi gets of Stiles and his friends at the beach. “So, you think eighteen months is an outrageous amount of time to consider a decision that will directly affect millions of lives over three different principalities.” He pauses. “Not to mention my life.”</p><p>“I think it’s an outrageous amount of time especially since this affects your life,” Derek says automatically, not understanding the coldness in the omega’s voice. “So much has happened in the last two years. You should have been at home instead of on your own doing CPR on a struggling economy while your father’s men cast lots over what he has left.”</p><p>“I have been at home,” The omega’s eyes flash and he stands up. “With my people-- where I’m needed most.”</p><p>“I meant at home with me!” Derek says, looking up at the angry omega. “With the two economies we could have fixed this in half the time. Look--” He levels his eyes with the omega’s, projecting confidence and calm. “We have the resources. We have the position and we have the element of time and surprise on our side. Halesbryne can give Longsfire and the US Tura in 90 days at most. Less than that if we go in now.” The omega stops pacing and looks at him, alert and listening. “Say the word and this part of the mess is dealt with.” Derek says, and he doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything better than the feeling he gets watching some of the tension drain from his omega’s neck and shoulders.</p><p>He looks at Stiles. That’s right, baby. He thinks. I’m here now. It’s okay. You don’t have to fight alone. I’m here. Come here and let me soothe every painful knot and spasm out of your omega neck and shoulders-- I bet they’re so sensitive. We can go to my room now. You can sleep next to me without worrying about any of this for the first time since your dad died and I’ll stay awake and make sure nobody takes you from me, that no one even bothers you.</p><p>Stiles sits down again, not breaking eye contact with Derek. “You have troops in Ergane?” He asks.</p><p>“They’re ready to move,” Derek nods.</p><p>“I knew it,” Stiles hisses under his breath. He looks up at the alpha again, and Derek can see things moving behind the omega’s busy eyes. The omega picks up another, a black leather document carrier with Corsair’s official seal on it and drops it between them, on the stack of the other documents. He looks up at Derek with impatience expectancy. “The parliament will give you plus temporis custody. Signed and official today whenever my people give the word.” He looks at Derek. “Of course they won’t give you full custody and mating and marriage rights until Churchaste’s appeal is played out in totality.” The omega’s lips go thin. “However, should Tura materialize within the next few months, I can’t see a reason why you wouldn’t have full rights within a year.”</p><p>“What?” Derek says dumbly. Again there is something about the omega’s detached tone he can’t reconcile with the hours, days, and years he’s spent pining over the time and affection they’ve lost after all these years. Now the omega is offering him everything he’s ever wanted in the same way he’s been offered military contracts and something about this feels deeply wrong. In his head they’d lain in his bed together, Stiles tucked in under Derek’s neck, surrounded by the alpha’s scent, his elegant hands grasping some part of Derek, while the alpha whispered his love, that he wouldn’t let anyone take Stiles away from him again, that Stiles was safe now. “What are you… what?”</p><p>“Is something wrong?” Stiles is frowning now. “Unless, in light of our discussion today you’d like to withdraw your petition.” The omega looks down. “I understand we haven’t met in some time--”</p><p>“No!” Derek chokes this out immediately, whatever Stiles is saying about withdrawing needs to stop immediately. “No. I...I’m not withdrawing.”</p><p>“Okay,” Stiles nods. “In the contract that parliament drew up today Halesbyrne would assume fiscal responsibility as well as martial responsibility for Operation Green Bayou. However, I think I can wrangle some American money if that’s what you’re concerned about.”</p><p>“No,” Derek can’t remember how much anything costs right now, but whatever it is, isn’t going to cost him his omega. “I told you I’d give you Tura-- I will.”</p><p>“Then what is it?” Stiles asks, clearly irritated.</p><p>Derek opens his mouth and he’s not sure what makes him say it other than he wants so much, has longed for and fantasized about this moment for so long, he can’t keep it in. “I want you to legitimize my claim.” He says.</p><p>Stiles’ eyes narrow and his mouth drops open. Derek has surprised him. “Legitimize--”</p><p>“I want you to tell them, to tell parliament and Churchaste--” especially Churchaste-- “that you recognize that I’ve imprinted on you. That you recognize my claim.”</p><p>Stiles stares at him for what feels like a whole minute. Then he says, “Give me two weeks-- I think I can get the UK offset the costs of Tura as well. It won’t cost Halebyrne a thing. In fact, you’ll probably make money.”</p><p>“This isn’t about the money--” Derek says, and he can feel his lips tightening into a grim frown.</p><p>“Of course it is.” Stiles says calmly.</p><p>“It’s not!” Derek says. He’s vehement and upset in ways he doesn’t even understand. He stands up.</p><p>“Yes,” Stiles is looking up at him calmly, carefully. “It is. And you should feel fortunate that it is.” Stiles looks at his nails. “If it wasn’t for the money we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”</p><p>“That’s right,” Derek snarls. “You would have come to me years ago if this were a normal, healthy situation.” And we would be having breakfast in our bed in our home instead of me watching you do your best Dr. Evil impression with a Martin chaperoning, he thinks. If he wasn’t so in love with Stiles the sheer indignity of this whole situation would have finished him.</p><p>“Well that’s one of the many misfortunes that comes from ‘imprinting on the heir of Longfire,’” Stiles says, rolling his beautiful eyes.</p><p>“You don’t think I did?” Derek growls, staring up at his cold omega. He finds this impossible to comprehend. This is unthinkable. How does Stiles not know, not feel all the years Derek has spent longing for him?”</p><p>“I think it’s convenient.” Stiles says with a cold boldness he’s never heard in an omega before. Then again, this one has been running a country for four years.</p><p>“Trust me,” Derek growls. “Nothing about this has been convenient.”</p><p>“Why are you angry?” Stiles asks, standing up too. He looks up at the alpha, his sharp eyes calculating. “I’m trying to give you what you want.” He nods.“You and I? We are in agreement.”</p><p>Except we’re not, Derek thinks. You want Tura and balanced books and a de-escalation of modern warfare in the Middle East and I want… you to love me. Or if you can’t do that then at least acknowledge that I love you. That I love you best. I want you to let me try to make you happy. Just let me try. I could make this good for you. Please. You don’t know, you can’t understand what it’s been like without you.</p><p>Stiles, meanwhile, has gotten impatient with him and has turned around, his graceful silk-swathed arms folded in front of his chest as the omega stars out over the ocean view without seeing any of the beauty around them.</p><p>“I wouldn’t lie,” Derek says, and his voice is low. Tired, even to his own ears. “Not to you. And definitely not about this.”</p><p>He watches Stiles in profile, watches surprise register on the omega’s face. Then he watches the surprise turn back into a frown.</p><p>Stiles closes his eyes. “This is not necessary.”</p><p>Derek is again taken aback by the omega’s cold deliberation. “What? The truth?” He shakes his head in disbelief, and stands up as well. “We’re about to be bonded.”</p><p>“Yes,” Stiles agrees quietly. When the omega opens his eyes, they are far away. “And in order for that to proceed I-- we have stipulated one thing and one thing only--” The omega takes a breath. “I want Tura on its knees in front of my allies and the world within six months. They will be de-escalated, subdued, and neutralized. I have been responsible for a lot of things over the last few years, but World War III will not be one of them.” He looks at Derek. “American intelligence told me you were the one man in the world who could get me what I want on the timeline I want.” The omega stares him down. “You want to be honest? Start by telling me if they were wrong.”</p><p>Derek stares at him. How is this the same omega he’s watching from afar at festivals and parties, laughing while Princess Lydia weaves crowns of flowers for his hair or reading aloud to his omegas-in-waiting from Rilke and Dickinson? He’d watched transfixed and half-mad with jealousy as Princess Lydia had fed Stiles and her own mate, Jackson, over-ripe berries on a cashmere blanket at a summer lawn party last August until the red juice had stained Stiles’ pretty lips and ran down his chin as he laughed. All the while, overzealous parliament members had kept him far away from Stiles and Westly Church the whole weekend.</p><p>“No.” Derek says, looking in his omega’s eyes, unwavering and uncowed. He tries to sound like an alpha, tries to convey security, calm, and tough stringency in his tone. In all honesty, had he not been so gobsmacked by being in Stiles’ presence he would have noticed much earlier how worn down, tired, and just plain stressed his omega has been. Stiles is strong, but not healthy. He needs to be ordered to bed and taken down immediately. “They were not wrong.”</p><p>Stiles looks at him for a long minute and Derek coolly holds his gaze. “Very well.” The omega says, looking away as if his busy mind is already on the next meeting in his day. “You may inform Halebryne’s council that plus temporis custody of the Prince of Longfire--” Stiles says this as if he isn’t the Prince of Longfire, as if he’s distantly removed from the entire situation, “will be approved and ratified at 16:00 hours today by the Middlegreen parliament, at which point he will be remanded to your majesty’s custody.”</p><p>“Today?” Derek literally feels his heart jump in his throat. After all these years, could this be happening today? Stiles could actually come home for the first time, tonight? He stares at the omega, forcing himself to slow down, to breathe. This isn’t over yet, and this must be done correctly. Derek is the alpha-- it’s his job to do this right, to do this the way Stiles deserves.</p><p>“If that’s not convenient for your court I can return to my own court in Firesborn until such time as arrangements can be made to quarter me and my council at your court in Bryneborn,” Stiles says evenly.</p><p>And absolutely not. There is no possible way Stiles is setting foot Firesborn or Martinsborn or any other court except for Derek’s until Derek has full and complete mating and marriage rights to him and can legally rip the throat out of anyone or anything who questions his claim.</p><p>“Or--” the omega tilts his head and looks away. “If it would be more convenient, my court has no objection to staying in Firesborn. I mean, regardless of this, I-- we-- still have principalities to run. There’s no need to rush into combining households--”</p><p>“No.” Derek says, and his tone is final. “Provided we can come to an agreement, after they publish the plus temporis I will send a battalion of my guard to your villa to immediately escort you and your court to Bryneborn. We can readily accommodate the queen’s entire court whenever we need to. Arrangements have been made.” The court at Bryneborn has been ready to house and maintain Stiles’ court since the omega was 17 and a half, and Derek doesn’t want to risk Henry Westly Church attempting to block Stiles’ exit from Corsair.</p><p>Stiles frowns. “Provided we come to an agreement? Your majesty, I have laid out my terms.”</p><p>“And I have agreed to meet them,” Derek says, his eyes unyielding. Stiles stares at him in confusion and Derek doesn’t think he’s ever met an omega until Stiles who actually seems to expect alphas to obey him 100% of the time. “You have yet to agree to my terms, Regia.”</p><p>Stiles continues to stare at him in confusion and vague irritation. It’s the same look Derek had once seen his chief of staff give a plummer who said she needed to order a part before she could fix one of the sinks in Derek’s bathroom. Derek almost smiles. He leans forwards, looking Stiles in the eyes, forcing the omega to pay attention-- really pay attention.</p><p>“I will give you Tura in 90 days.” Derek says evenly, his voice sure. He watches Stiles carefully. “Give me a year’s time after that and I will give you the entire Lamia territory. The Americans were right-- I can do it. If that is what my queen desires, I am happy to do it.” He pauses, watching his omega’s face. “Before 16:00 hours today you will legitimize my claim.”</p><p>“Fuck!” The omega bangs his fist on the table in a gesture he’s likely picked up from his alpha generals and advisors. He seems to recover from his abrupt flash of anger quickly, his lovely face smoothing back into its usual detached cool and for a half a second the omega looks like he can’t believe he’s allowed his aloof mask slip. His eyes stare up at Derek from beneath his heavy lashes-- alpha-hostile, omega-beautiful. “You know I can’t do that, your majesty.”</p><p>“No, I don’t know that.” Derek’s voice is soft, genial even, but firm.</p><p>The scowl of the omega’s face intensifies. “It’s not possible.”</p><p>“You can do it and you will,” Derek repeats, keeping his tone low, logical. He’s not exuding anger or even frustration at his omega. He’s simply laying down the law, expressing realities. Derek knows this is not the last time he will need to set down boundaries for Stiles in order to do what’s best for the omega. He is his omega’s calm in the storm. He’s his omega’s sanctuary and refuge and safe place.</p><p>And Stiles… Stiles’ face looks halfway between a spoiled child being told he cannot go out and play and an absolute homicidal maniac.</p><p>“Maybe you didn’t read the dossier or my wikipedia article, Sir, but I have been the acting queen of Longsfire for four years now-- and that’s not a title they give to Miss Congeniality,” Stiles sounds like the words are being wedged through his jaw.</p><p>“Three years ago you wrote the Barrens-Lowe Act,” Derek says. “A year before that you were nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize. Last year you helped negotiate a complete overhaul of UN qualifications.” Derek has never read Stiles wikipedia page. But he’s so obsessed, he thinks his chief of staff is the one who wrote it.</p><p>“Then you know that you are asking for the impossible,” Stiles says, glaring at him.</p><p>“You-- Regia-- know that I’m only asking for you to do the right thing.” Derek doesn’t blink. He’s calm. He’s in control. He’s reasonable. He and his omega are having a (semi?) mature discussion about their relationship. He’s listening to his omega’s side of things. “There is no legitimate reason for you to refuse.”</p><p>Stiles bristles. “There are plenty of legitimate reasons for me to refuse!”</p><p>“No,”Derek shakes his head and eyes Stiles calmly, carefully. “The only reason you won’t legitimize my claim is that by publicly accepting me, you would longer have the option of backing out of this arrangement and mating with Michael Westly Church.” He leans in closer, maintaining an alpha stare with his omega until he’s mere inches from Stiles’ perfect skin, to his euphoric scent. “And I’m playing for keeps, Regia. No one-- not Churchaste or parliament or any other thing on this earth is going to take you from me. You are my omega. My wife. My queen. The sooner Prince Michael accepts that, the easier this is going to be for everyone.” Derek straightens, leaning back and away from Stiles. His body relaxes back into the couch. “I’m going to take care of you for the rest of your life.”</p><p>The omega stares at him for a long moment and Derek can’t tell what’s going on in Stiles’ over-extended brain.</p><p>“This is unnecessary,” He finally says, beginning to shuffle his papers again agitatedly.</p><p>“I beg to differ,” Derek counters reasonably. “Acknowledging my claim is of the utmost--”</p><p>“That’s not what I meant!” Stiles snaps, and marking the first time in his life Derek has been interrupted by an omega. I mean this--” He makes vague hand motions between Derek and himself. “The stuff between us is unnecessary.” The omega is still not looking at him, Stiles’ eyes are glued to the papers. “You don’t have to tell me you’ll take care of me. My staff has obviously done their research-- you have a whole freaking kingdom-- I’m not worried I’ll starve.”</p><p>Derek frowns again. He isn’t trying to run some kind of game on Stiles. If he’s telling the omega all sorts of asinine, fluffy goo it’s because Derek’s brain has spent the better part of the last decade malfunctioning at the thought of Stiles and these things are just pouring out of him, unbidden now that they’re finally alone together.</p><p>“I only wanted you to know--” He starts.</p><p>“I know!” The omega snaps, pressing the pressure points on his nose. “Give me some credit. I know this is the kind of thing a lot of omegas being ‘courted’ want to hear. But come on-- do you really think someone like me is going to fall for that? I asked you for the political heads of my enemies, not a box of chocolate.” He sighs, aggressively shuffling his papers. “This may come as a shock to your alpha brain, but everyone involved in this-- including me-- is in on the fact that this marriage, or any marriage’s, purpose is not love.” He sighs. “There is no pressure on you, whatsoever to make me love you.”</p><p>In all the countless years Derek has spent anxiously thinking of this moment he had never once expected it to be like this and Derek thinks something inside of him might be breaking. He can smell the stress, an irritation, and plain exhaustion pouring off his omega in miserably turbulent waves and longs to pull Stiles into his lap, caress his temples, neck, shoulder, mating glans. So Stiles can’t hear Derek’s love. He’ll make the omega feel it.</p><p>“What is the purpose then?” Derek asks and he can hear his voice harden. “Why me and not Churchaste-- or any other alpha for that matter? What is the purpose of this marriage if it’s not love?”</p><p>“Commitment,” Stiles says, still ruffling the papers. “A commitment to our people and our principalities. The knowledge that our marriage is the right thing to do for both Longsfire and Halebyrne.” He swallowed. “I’ve been watching parliament for years and I think your court and mine share civic values.”</p><p>It’s not the least romantic thing Derek has ever heard, but it’s close.</p><p>“Then acknowledge me.” Derek says, setting his jaw again. “Acknowledge me and my people, my resources, my men, my navies, and armies and combat technology-- all of it is at Longsfire’s disposal, as I am at yours.”</p><p>Stiles pauses for a long moment. “I’ll give you an heir.” The omega says.</p><p>“Wha?” Derek asks.</p><p>“A right of blood,” Stiles says. “Enter into the plus temporis with me and I’ll swear a blood oath to parliament to provide you with an heir regardless of if you end up with complete mating and marriage rights to me or not.”</p><p>Derek stares at Stiles. The omega is watching him closely now, intense and forthright. Derek knows a right of blood is powerful, but not enough to scare off other potential makes. There have been several documented cases in history where an omega has given an heir to one alpha because of a blood oath and has mated with another. Still, it is tempting.</p><p>“I’m strong,” Stiles says, a look of determination on the omega’s face. “I’m very fertile-- you can look at my health records. I can give you a capable heir who will have a pedigree that would allow them to claim alliances to both my kingdom and yours. There would be no one who could equal them in terms of bloodline in all of Middlesgreen.”</p><p>Derek sighs. This is ridiculous. Why is he even worrying about this? Once Stiles comes to Bryneburn, he’s Derek’s. Nobody will dare take him from Derek. Of course Stiles will supply Derek with an heir-- several in fact. The omega is right about one thing-- there will be no one to equal his children’s mother.</p><p>“Okay.” Derek says. “Draw up the paperwork.”</p><p>Stiles nods, his face unreadable. “And Tura?”</p><p>“It will be done,” Derek says. “Now tell your household to be ready to leave immediately.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. I Love My Job (and other lies)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I love my job. I love my job. I love my people. I love a challenge. This is good. This is perfect. I love my job.” Stiles has been repeating this mantra aloud for about seven minutes now and he knows his royal blood is literally the only thing keeping his head of household, Avis, Princess Lydia, and both their staffs from strangling him with their bare hands. He looks at Lydia. “I love my job, right?” </p><p>“Um… that’s the jist of what you’ve been saying,” Lydia says, helping Avis fold one of Stile’s cashmere blankets. </p><p>“I mean, this was my plan, right?” Stiles asks her, and she can see his doe’s eyes blown open. “And it’s working perfectly, right? Because I’m a genius.” </p><p>“I mean, based on previous relevant behavior you are, but now I’m starting to wonder,” Lydia says, eyeing the omega. </p><p>“I mean, World War III would be bad, right?” Stiles asks everyone and no one. “Like-- we ran the numbers and it was a no go, right?” </p><p>“Um, yes, honey.” Lydia says. “I seem to remember you saying we should avoid another World War if at all possible.” </p><p>“And they would just make me get married anyway.” Stiles looks like he hasn’t slept in a month. “I mean there’s nowhere on earth I could hide. My people need me. I have responsibilities.” </p><p>“My Ragia,” Avis says maternally. “There is no leader of men on earth who is beloved more by the people. Even the citizens of other principalities and countries around the world sing praises of your kindness and beauty and pray for your health and your future mate. The people-- they know nobody loves them like you. There will be dancing in the streets of the world when your engagement is announced.” </p><p>“Right.” Stiles looks pale. He pauses for a long moment. “So, run it by me again. Why is World War III off the table?”</p><p>“Was he that bad?” Princess Lydia stopped trying to hold back her eye rolls an hour ago. “Did you hate him that much?”</p><p>Stiles pauses for a moment. He picks up a teacup, brings it to his lips, forgets to take a drink and puts it back down. Two footmen pick up the sofa he’s perched on and begin moving it to the door. Stiles doesn’t seem to notice. </p><p>“I…” He says, having been set down on the lawn. Princess Lydia and Avis have followed him and the sofa out. “He was rude.”</p><p>“Hm,” Lydia cocks her head. “How was he rude? I mean, I’ve known him peripherally for years and I haven’t ever seen him be rude to an omega. Derek is known for being quite diplomatic for a war lord, in fact. I always thought that’s why the two of you would be a better fit than you and Michael.” She shrugs. “And anyways he’s popped his knot so hard for you, I half figured you chose him because he’d be so eager to throw time, money, and men at you.” </p><p>“Well,” Stiles starts tersely. “If you must know, you and I both horribly misjudged the Hale situation.” </p><p>“You’re kidding!” Lydia says. </p><p>“In fact, we’re lucky there’s a deal at all,” Stiles sniffs. “For a minute there I didn’t think he’d agree to it.”</p><p>“I don’t believe it,” Lydia looks shocked. “Did he give his reasoning?” </p><p>“Get this,” Stiles snorted. “He demanded I acknowledge his claim to parliament.” </p><p>“Well, of course he did,” Lydia says. “That’s usually how these things are done-- particularly with omegas like you. He’s already got a challenger. He’s looking to stake a claim before any more come out of the woodwork.” </p><p>“You said he’s not stupid,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes. “He had to have known I’d never agree to do such a thing. But no--” Stiles shrugged. “He just stood there staring at me like this was an expectation. Like it never even occurred to him that I would say no.” </p><p>“The same way it never occurred to you that he would even ask, genius?” Lydia smirks. </p><p>“Ugh,” Stiles flops down on the silk couch, sending embroidered pillows flying. “He wouldn’t stop talking about the imprinting. And that’s like the least relevant part of this whole thing.” Stiles stares up into the trees. “It’s like he thinks I’m stupid. It’s like we’re all in some kind of play and he think I’m too stupid to know I’m an actor. I think that’s what bothers me most about all of this.” </p><p>“Maybe he’s just in love with you,” Lydia says, not looking at him. </p><p>“Oh yeah,” Stiles says sarcastically. “Don’t get me wrong-- I think he has a serious hard on for my genetic material.” Stiles shrugs. “It is the best thing about me.” </p><p>“It is not!” Lydia’s tone is brightly scolding. “You’re kind and good and so smart and the whole world would literally suck more if you weren’t as involved in its affairs as you are.” </p><p>“Those are things I do for my dad, Lydia,” Stiles says softly. “And my mom. They’re not here to do them anymore so I have to.” The omega pauses. “But have an heir-- that’s something I can do for my alpha.” He shrugs. “It’s also how we got out of this mess.” </p><p>“Wait, what?!” Lydia asks. </p><p>“Oh,” Stiles says. “That’s how I got Derek to agree to partial custody without me formally acknowledging him. I signed a blood oath and now I owe him a kid.” Lydia is dumbstruck and Stiles doesn’t seem to notice. “I don’t think it will stop Churchaste’s petition, though. I think we could still convince them to bond me to Michael if push comes to shove and we need to.” </p><p>“Stiles, honey,” Lydia blinks at him. “Don’t take this the wrong way but sometimes I forget you’re an omega until moments like this.” </p><p>“What do you mean?” Stiles asks. </p><p>“Stiles, if you pop out Derek’s kid and then bond with Michael I will tell you right now what’s going to happen.” She says. “First of all, you probably won’t even get out of Brynesborn, but let’s say-- by some miracle-- you do and by another miracle you manage to get to Churchaste and bond with Michael. For the rest of your life you will be waiting for the moment when Derek Hale and the world’s most elite special ops team storm Hasteborn Castle, murder Michael, and carry you back to Brynesborn.” </p><p>Stiles blinks at her, “Well, that’s just silly.”</p><p>“How?” Lydia asks. “How is that silly? Ask me what I’d do if another alpha tried to take Jackson from me.” </p><p>“Well, I know what you’d do,” Stiles sniffs. “But that’s different.” </p><p>“How?”</p><p>“Because your imprinting is real,” Stiles says with an air of finality. “I watched it happen. And… you really love him. He was the son of a Lord, but he could have been the son of a milkmaid. It doesn’t matter. He was yours and he can’t be without you. And you can’t be without him. You need him.”</p><p>“Right.” Lydia says. “You saw it. Is that how you know my imprinting is real?”</p><p>“Well, yes.” Stiles says. </p><p>“Well, you’re not the only one who can see things,” Lydia says. She pinches her nose. “You’re literally the only person on earth who would actually bribe Derek Hale with a baby and consider this situation under control.” </p><p>“This is good. This is working. I love my job.” Stiles says. </p><p>“Christ-- do not start that again.” Lydia says. She flags down a passing aid. “Nicole, do we have a formalized response from Churchaste yet about the partial custody announcement?”</p><p>“We have an initial statement from Churchaste,” Nicole says, scrolling through her phone. “Looks like they’re going to release a longer one tonight, but the gist is they say this is an unlawful arrangement and they are severely disappointed with parliament’s ruling. They say Hale’s claim-- even if legitimate, which they contend is a big if-- does not surpass Michael Church’s claim as Prince Michael’s claim predates Derek’s by two years. They say they are shocked and disturbed by the blood oath and suggest it was obtained unlawfully under duress. And they are praying for the health and safety of their future queen.” </p><p>“Oof,” Lydia says, looking at Stiles. “Do we have a rebuttal from Halebryne?” </p><p>“Um, yes--” Nicole scrolls down on her phone. “Queen Talia’s household put out a statement stating that Prince Stiles will by officially coming home to Bryneborn for the first time this evening, and this announcement after nearly two years of legal limbo marks one of the happiest days of the Queen’s life. Um…” Nicole pauses, scrolling further. “She goes on to say the blood oath was a public symbol of love offered by the future queen of Halebryne and Longfire as the cruel parliament has refused to allow Prince Derek to officially claim his longtime love.” The aid looks at Lydia and Stiles. “Wow.”</p><p>“Yeah.” Lydia says.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Key</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey Babe!” Lord Veron Boyd calls over his shoulder. </p><p>“Yeah?” Erica’s voice sounds like it’s coming from the first story of their spacious apartments in Brightbryne Castle. </p><p>“Remember when we were going over that budget in November?” He calls. </p><p>Boyd hears so nondescript chattering and giggling, and then, “Yeah.” </p><p>“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I seem to remember being told not to budget for World War III because we had decided as a nation Derek wasn’t going to start one over that omega,” Boyde calls back. </p><p>More laughing and chattering. Boyd rolls his eyes and walks down the spiral staircase into the spacious sitting room where he finds his mate, Erica, sandwiched between the Princesses, Laura and Cora Hale. Prince Derek is pacing by the fire, staring at his cellphone. </p><p>“Derek,” Boyd walks over to the prince and physically takes the phone from the prince. Derek makes a noise that starts out as a growl and turns into whine when he sees it’s Boyd. “Watching their progress isn’t going to make them get here any faster. It’s a four hour flight.” </p><p>“I shouldn’t have let him fly,” Derek murmurs under his breath. “Or I should have waited and flown in with him. Made sure he was okay. That way if the plane went down at least I’d be with him--”</p><p>“Okay,” Boyd says loudly. “You’re getting morbid again. Stiles is on private jets constantly-- has been since he was an infant. He’s still very much alive.” And not happy with you, Boyd thinks privately, if the reports from the staff are anything to go on. </p><p>“What if he hates it here?” Derek asks Boyd. </p><p>Oh, Boyd thinks, Don’t worry, he will. At least at first. </p><p>Being an influential diplomat himself, Boyd has met Prince Stiles, “the fairest omega in the land” or whatever the hell the tabloids called him now. The kid honestly only really ever seemed happy when he was in a heated debate with the US Secretary of State. He had once watched the omega down three orders of curly fries while debating Cold War economics with Hilary Clinton. Stiles has been like, barely a teenager. </p><p>Predictably, Stiles’ fucked up, over-exposed childhood had led to a fucked up over-exposed adulthood and here they all were pretending they weren’t on the brink of a civil war because two alphas both wanted to fuck the same omega. And omega who-- by the way, if anyone was keeping track-- Boyd was fairly certain had wanted a grand total of nothing to do with this whole business. Boyd isn’t sure, he doesn’t know Stiles like that, but he’s fairly certain the omega’s 18th birthday had been the worst day of his life. </p><p>Longfire being what is, they are masters of PR, and they had played it exactly how Boyd had expected Stiles to. Longfire had been quiet. Carefully neutral whenever their press secretary was asked about the claims. Stiles never once made a statement about the mating filings or even acknowledged they were going on. Every time the press brought us the controversy, Longfire would emphasize Stiles’ young age, playing him off a little more than a child, all the while allowing him to rule the principality. </p><p>Boyd didn’t know the details, but word around the international drinking fountain was the US had gotten into some fairly serious trouble involving nuclear weapons and a small island called Tura, and they were partnering with Longfire to look for a quiet solution. Boyd, Laura, and Derek had spent a long hard year, slowly infiltrating the territory, setting up dominance and connections, and making absolute sure that Churchaste was unaware of any potentially international crisis. Derek was a military strategist through and through, just like his mother and he knew it was only a matter of time before Longsfire would come along looking for a miracle. </p><p>Boyd had thought he had got this, thought he understood what they were doing until one night when Derek had been up for three days, pouring over maps and charts and Boyd had caught him slumped across a desk. </p><p>“Come on, big guy,” Boyd had said. “Let’s get you to bed.” </p><p>“He’ll be safe now, won’t he?” Derek had murmured as Boyd had manhandled the prince into a bed. </p><p>“What?” Boyd had asked.</p><p>“My omega,” Derek had muttered. “They can’t hurt him now that we’re in the region.” </p><p>“Stiles isn’t in Tura, Derek,” Boyd had said. </p><p>“They want to take him from me,” the prince had muttered. “They keep him from me.” </p><p>“Not for much longer,” Boyd had said, unsure if that were even true. </p><p>“Is he safe?” The prince had muttered, before rolling over. </p><p>Are any of us? Boyd had wondered. </p><p>Derek is pacing again, having taken his phone back from Boyd. </p><p>“What is wrong with you?” Boyd asks him. Usually unflappable and steady, Derek is one of the calmest, most serene commanders Boyd has ever seen. “You’ve haven’t sat down or stood still for longer than 20 seconds all morning.” </p><p>“Is this what cooties are?” Cora asks from the sofa. </p><p>“If just…” Derek runs two hands through his hair. “I wasn’t expecting this.”</p><p>Laura eyes her brother. “You’re telling me I just spent two years of my life filing custody paperwork again and again and again so we could be surprised when it works and Stiles moves in. Wonderful. We’re all getting so much better at this planning ahead stuff.” </p><p>“He could have come any time he wanted!” Derek insists, pacing. And this is true. Derek has screamed that very sentence at least once about every 10 days for the past 18 months. “All he would have had to do is tell parliament that he acknowledges my claim or… whatever it is he told parliament and they would have granted me partial custody.”</p><p>“Favorable provenance--” Laura says, scrolling through an email. </p><p>“What?” asks Cora.</p><p>“That’s what Longfire listed as their reasoning for backing your suite over Prince Michael’s,” Laura says. She scrolls down. “This is the un-redacted version of the ruling. Only Longfire, us, and Churchaste have received this full version. The press all got the redacted version without any of Stiles’ personal health notes. I wouldn’t put it past Churchaste to leak this to the press if it would help their case.” She frowns. “It looks like here Prince Stiles’ health has been on the decline over the past two years.”</p><p>Derek looks up in alarm, crossing the room to Laura in one step, leaning down to read over her shoulder. </p><p>“Doctors say it is likely due to the enormous amount of stress the omega has suffered since his father’s death, but some omega specialists fear his body is acting in response to imprinting,” Laura reads. “Some specialists believe the prince could improve if he were to have a steady, beneficial relationship with the alpha who imprinted on him. However, as Longfire has yet to officially acknowledge either of the imprintings, the official stance of the Longfire crown is that they do not believe such imprinting has occurred with either alpha in question. The omega in question has maintained this stance in every interview and report on the matter since it came to parliament’s attention.” </p><p>Boyd looks at Derek, “So, this is why you’ve been so crazy.” </p><p>“He can’t honestly believe this,” Cora says, shaking her head. “It’s been nearly two years. Doesn’t he have any idea what you’ve been through?” She blinks, “What I’ve been through dealing with you going through this.” </p><p>“What happened?” Laura says, and Boyd recognizes the sharpness in Laura’s voice. “Derek,” She had her alpha voice on. “Why now? What happened?” </p><p>“What do you mean?” Cora asks, looking at her older sister.</p><p>“He’s the most sought-after omega in the world. He doesn’t think it’s real. He clearly isn’t a romantic and doesn’t seem to care about his health. We know he’s a work-a-holic. And all he ever seems like he wants to do on social media is completely un-omega stuff going sky-diving with Elon Musk or saving sea turtles with Leonardo DiCapprio.” Laura paused. “Now, he’s not just moving in, he’s sworn to give you an heir. So what changed his tune?” </p><p>“Well, you know how I told you he was going to need Tura?” Derek sighs.</p><p>“Yes, and I told you he’ll have no idea he needs Tura until it’s too late.” Laura says. </p><p>“Turns out he’s quicker on the draw than you thought,” Derek says. </p><p>They all just sit there in a stunned silence. </p><p>“Derek--” Erica looks up and her face is pale. “You’ll never be able to keep him.”</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Keeping the Kept</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It occurs to Vernon Boyd that in a villa in Tuscany he once witnessed Prince Stiles simultaneously jet-lagged, motion sick, and suffering anaphylactic shock, and the omega had still somehow managed to look like he was having a better time than now. It’s nearly midnight and Stiles is looking nearly unrecognizable in black Gucci shorts, a Balmain baseball hat, and sunglasses. And yes-- it’s nighttime. The omega is also wearing designer socks and Off-White slides. He looks so thin and young in these clothes, his lips pressed in a line. Boyd is so used to seeing Stiles in his usual custom trousers and vests. Now he looks like a pop star ready to be dragged to rehab. Another omega, broader and taller than Stiles with perfectly proportioned eyes and lips is half holding Stiles up. Boyd recognizes the broader omega as Princess Lydia’s mate (Jason? Jefferson? Some omega sorority name like that,) and notes he’s wearing the same atrocious designer socks and slides combo as Stiles, although thankfully he appears to be a little more lucid. An obscene amount of pave diamonds drip from his neck, despite the omega’s casual outfit. </p><p>“I don’t like you,” Lydia’s mate is saying to Stiles. “I don’t enjoy your company. You think you’re so great just because you know that Germany and Austria are two friggin’ different countries… or is it Australia? You know what? I don’t even care. I don’t like you and yet here we are. ‘Go take Stiles to Brightbryne,’ she says. ‘It’ll be fun,’ she says--” </p><p> Stiles’ household is large-- even by Brightbryne’s standards, but there is more than enough room for everyone. Stiles has brought fourteen courtiers and their families, along with some of their staff. He has also brought forty household staff to add to Derek’s who are trained in how the prince prefers things. He’s brought two chefs along and a veterinarian, along with a team of stylists, hair, and wardrobe masters. Derek’s primary residence in Bryneborn is in reality a collection of homes and buildings featuring quarters for nearly a hundred full time staff members as well as quarters for Stiles Staff and entourage, separate residences for Laura and Cora and their omegas when they came to visit. The residence where Boyd and Erica lived. Stables, sporting equipment, a gym, a ballroom, a small auditorium, and several large kitchens. Boyd has spent the last four hours in Derek’s quarters and he really has no earthly idea why. It’s not in his job description-- any of them. He’s landed gentry. </p><p>“Here’s a thought--” Boyd had said, perched on the edge of a perfectly servicable California king-sized mattress that had just been pulled off Derek’s bed in favor of a new one. “Maybe he shouldn’t stay in here.” </p><p>And Derek had the gall to stare at him. Like he had grown a second head. </p><p>Boyd had shrugged. “I’ve only been happily mated for like, five years, man. To an omega I imprinted on.” </p><p>Derek threw a package at him. “What do you think of these?” </p><p>“For what?” Boyd asks, staring at the package. </p><p>Again with that face. “To sleep on?” </p><p>“What are they?” Boyd resists the urge to roll his eyes. </p><p>“Heathered cashmere sheets.”</p><p>Boyd actually rolls his eyes. “I think you’re trying too hard.” Boyd pauses, “Actually, now that I think about it, don’t you think this whole thing-- with the petitioning parliament and the counter-suing Churchaste, and the 13 appeals court dates, and the 18 month obsession all smack of trying a little too hard?” Boyd shrugs. “I mean, it’s probably too late to make a different impression, right? We’ve only been to court like a hundred times.” </p><p>Derek appears out of the ensuite bathroom carrying two kinds of bath sheets. He throws them both at Boyd. </p><p>“What?” Boyd asks. “It’s a towel. He was nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize-- you think he’s going to care about how he dries his ass?” </p><p>“Just tell me which one is better for sensitive omega skin,” Derek yells as four different house keepers flit in and out of the bathroom carrying luxury toiletries and bath accessories. </p><p>“You want some advice?” Boyd calls. “I don’t think an omega-- particularly one as sensitive as you think this one is-- should be moving into your quarters sight unseen.” </p><p>Derek comes out of the bathroom again, this time carrying three bags of exotic fish. He adds them to a sizable light-up fish tank, gleaming and modern, inset into one of the walls. </p><p>“I um… heard it was relaxing.” Derek nods. “For omegas. To see fish.” </p><p>“Right.” Boyd blinks. “Derek, if you introduce too much new shit to him at once he’s going to… probably be overwhelmed and unhappy and likely to leave you to go save the rainforest or some shit like that. I don’t know. Maybe he’ll liberate your fish.” </p><p>“Oh, that’s the great thing,” Derek says. “I had my head of household call his head of staff this morning and we got all the brands of cleaners and shampoo and laundry detergent and snacks and coffee he uses in Longfire. So, really it won’t be that new for him. Just there were more than one brand of sheets and towels and stuff.” </p><p>“Yeah, he’s a prince. He’s got a lot of houses. Lots of towels and shit.” Boyd sighs. “Derek, you’re trying to do this the right way. I get that.” Boyd sighs, unsure of how to say what he’s sure he should say to his friend. “I just… I don’t know if there is a right way to do this.” Boyd takes a breath. “With an omega who maybe doesn’t feel the same way about you as you feel about him.” </p><p>“What do you mean?” Derek asks. “I have the paperwork. You’ve seen it. The world has seen it.” Derek’s eyes get a little far away. “I told him he’s mine. He knows.” Derek gets up, grabbing a small remote from an end table. He presses a button and one side of the room opens to reveal a glass wall of windows pointing towards the gardens and the lake. He looks at Boyd. “Did I have these windows cleaned today?” </p><p>“I think sometimes what we as alphas think it means to own an omega is different than what our omegas think it means,” Boyd says.“I think it’s going to be a huge adjustment being away from his properties and subjects. Living on top of a stranger might be a little stressful.” Boyd looks around, “Especially since everything in here is so alpha-- so you. It’s obviously not an omega space.” Boyd shrugs. “You’ve got like seven other houses on this property.” </p><p>“You read the report,” Derek says, his jaw set. “My omega isn’t well. Those fucking bastards have kept him away from me for too long.” </p><p>Boyd silently wonders if Stiles is one of the “fucking bastards” Derek is referring to. </p><p>“He needs to be here with me,” Derek frowns, running a hand over a chiropractic omega pillow designed to support delicate omega necks. Derek has bought one in every size.“What if he needs me at night?” </p><p>“He’s got a cellphone and like, fifty staff members who have known him since birth.” At this Boyd really thinks he needs to stop pointing out obvious stuff to this poor dumb alpha. Boyd sighs. “You can’t even fuck him.” Again with the obvious. </p><p>“Not yet,” Derek allows. “It’s not a big deal.” </p><p>“Not a big deal. Huh.” Boyd says. “Well, when you’ve imprinted on an omega and you haven’t fucked them-- it kind of becomes a big deal. And until the courts go through Churchaste’s appeals process, and providing that they don’t find in favor of Churchaste, and providing we can secure Tura, and providing Longfire upholds their end of the agreement, only then can you really fuck Stiles. It’s kind of a lot of steps and it’s kind of a big deal.”</p><p>“Look-- it’s not ideal,” Derek says. “But I don’t think my knot is the only thing he needs right now--”</p><p>Really, Sherlock? Boyd thinks. </p><p>“--I mean I think it would be healthier for him, for both of us--” </p><p>Opposed to what was basically a restraining order of a relationship they’ve enjoyed up until seven hours ago. </p><p>“--Stiles just needs to relax--” </p><p>He’s never going to do that with you around, in this place, reminding him he’s no longer his own man. </p><p>Derek’s eyes are far away. “Churchaste will never take him from me. Michael could never...” He looks at Boyd. “You didn’t see him today-- you didn't. You didn’t smell him. You don't know how he needs to be here, in this room, with me. They’ve been hurting him-- keeping him away from me like this. If I quartered him in a different house or even a different set of rooms it would just hurt him more. I’ll take care of him-- I promise.” Derek isn’t looking at Boyd, isn’t looking at anyone. “I’ve never done anything to hurt him. I don’t understand why they won’t let me have him.”</p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Long Game</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Baby-- Baby… Baby… uh-huh...Baby--” Princess Lydia’s omega is on his cell phone with his alpha and she doesn’t sound overly impressed. “Yeah, we just got here... How’s Stiles?” </p><p>Lydia’s omega looks over to where one of Stiles’ beta valets is attempting to inconspicuously prop Stiles up against a banister, while Derek is being introduced to Stiles’ staff by Avis, all the while glancing at Stiles with increasingly upset looks. Boyd and Laura soon come to the valet’s aid and Boyd ushers the boy away. </p><p> “He’s uh… great.” Lydia’s omega says. “That outfits a solid 7/10… But yeah, I got him here, just like I said I would... Yeah, of course he’s shit-faced.” A long pause and then, “Well you should have specified before we left that I wasn’t supposed to let him destroy himself on the jet over here… Well, I guess apparently you do need to say things like that out loud. I mean, have you seen his alpha-- woof. I told Stiles, he must have really been trying to put the ‘M’ in S&amp;M when he chose Hale over Church… of course, I think Church would have been easier to control-- everyone says that.”</p><p> Lydia’s omega rolls his cornflower blue eyes, still talking obnoxiously loudly into his phone despite Derek, his sisters, and his staff all being present in the large entry hall of the castle. “I told Stiles on the jet, we’re totally doing this. It’s now or never because that dude-- that Hale motherfucker-- is never letting you put anything fun in your mouth again.” </p><p>“You know,” Laura says, smiling, appearing at Derek’s side. “I’ve always liked Lord Jackson.” </p><p>“He’s Prince Jackson, now,” Derek smiles, bemused. “How does she do it?” </p><p>“Princess Lydia?” Laura asks. She smiles. “I have it on good authority she’d found better uses for Jackson’s mouth than his strangely accurate travel updates.” </p><p>“She throws a gag on him?” Derek smiles. </p><p>“Several,” Laura laughs. “Sometimes with a pair of balled up socks.” </p><p>Derek pauses, still watching the Martin omega, “How accurate do you think he is?” </p><p>“About what?” Laura asks, a knowing look in her eyes. </p><p>“Westly Church.” Derek can feel his jaw tense and his blood boil at the mere mention of Prince Michael. </p><p>“Of course he would be easier to control,” Laura smiles. “Derek, you run the most elite special ops teams in the world. The Great Wall of China is more easily moved than you.” Laura is beautiful, even though she’s been up for nearly 24 hours straight now. “It’s one of the reasons I was so shocked Longfire decided to advance with you. Quite frankly, I guess now I can tell you I never thought it would happen.” </p><p>Derek stares at his sister shocked and a little stricken, “Laura-- are you serious?” </p><p>He’d imprinted on Stiles when the omega was nine. Derek had been fifteen. Laura, his beautiful, lovely big sister, the strongest, most courageous, most competent alpha he knew had been the first one he’d told. And from that moment on, even through all their years spent in different schools, different kingdoms, and different countries Derek had always known this day would come. He’d never not been certain Stiles would one day come to live with him, be his in every real sense of the word, and all would be right in the world. To hear Laura had ever doubted this was shocking. </p><p>“Derek,” Laura’s green eyes meet her younger brother’s and they are filled with sympathy and pragmatism. “For one moment stop thinking like an alpha who is deeply, madly, desperately in love with Stiles Stilinski and start thinking like what we actually are-- military strategists.” She shakes her head. “Mom is all but retired-- you’re my brother and the heir. I have been watching this situation since you were fifteen. At no point has Prince Stilinski ever made any comment, show of tradition, reference, any inkling that would suggest he’s looking for alpha to do alpha things for him or with him or to him.” She grimaces. “Let’s be real. They-- and by they I mean Longfire and the United States Government-- needed a miracle and we had… a miracle.” Laura shook her head. “Up until the heat got turned up in Tura, my money was all on Stiles pursuing Church and then placating his new alpha into letting Stiles do whatever he wants for the rest of their lives.” She sighs. “In fact, so long as we’re being honest,” She pauses. “I’m not entirely convinced that’s not still the plan, that it's not still the long game.” </p><p>“But…” Derek stares at Laura. How does she not see? How does she not understand? Did she not just see Derek’s omega not five minutes ago. “He needs me.” Derek finishes. “Church can’t give him what he needs.” </p><p>“I agree,” Laura nods. “The good news is they still need Tura.” </p><p>“No,” Derek shakes his head. “That’s… that’s not what I meant.” He looks away, troubled. “Did you see him?” He gesticulates in the direction Boyd just took Stiles. “Did you see how he is? He needs me to gentle him, make sure he’s eating, sleeping, make sure he’s happy.” Derek frowns. “Church isn’t alpha enough to take care of an omega so... complicated.” Who needs so much and yet so little, Derek thinks. He looks at Laura, his eyes pleading for his older sister to understand. “I could make him happy, if he’d let me.” </p><p>“Oh honey,” Laura says. “An omega like that was never interested in happiness.”</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Hell or something similar</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Is it possible that he’s dead? Nope.. Even at this level of dysfunction, Stiles’ brain rejects that idea. There is simply no way he’d be that lucky. Maybe he’s just in a coma. In hell. Or in a place that smells like his alpha, who has apparently left him here. So, it’s got to be hell, right? But wait-- he doesn’t have an alpha. Why did his brain just tell him very loudly and clearly he has an alpha?</p><p>Oh. Shit. Where the hell were they going? Hell? No. Derek Hale’s estate, so yeah-- he’d been kind of right. Was he supposed to make sure Jackson got here in one piece or did he get that backwards? He’s positive Lydia had threatened at least one of them… Jesus. How is that smell getting stronger? It’s literally the only thing keeping him from throwing up all over himself and actually dying. God-- it is heaven. How can something that amazing smelling exist when the blackness is somehow spinning and it won’t stop?</p><p>Stiles feels someone taking off his slides and socks and then running a cool broad thumb over the tortured ball of his foot. It feels almost as perfect as whatever is next to him smells.</p><p>“Take these,” A low voice, exuding notes of reassurance. Mellowly concerned, but not fraught or panicked. Above all-- in control. A real alpha’s voice in a way Stiles rarely hears at home in his own court.</p><p> </p><p>“I think Princess Laura mentioned wanting to burn them,” Another voice, just as low, but more bemused.</p><p>“She can have everything he’s wearing,” The alpha’s voice again. “Do you smell that? How many bottles of liquor can one jet have?”</p><p>“It was a Martin jet,” the other voice laughs. “So, we’re lucky this one didn’t pull an Amy Whinehouse.”</p><p>“Don’t even joke about that. Jesus.”</p><p>The alpha is slightly displeased. With Stiles? For whatever reason this possibility makes Stiles recoil in on himself, rolling to his side with a weak moan. He wants to be closer to his alpha’s voice, to his smell. He wants to bury his face in the safe, welcoming warmth between his alpha’s collarbone and under his jaw until Stiles is forgiven and comforted and-- <em>where the hell was any of this coming from?</em> Was he high? How high could you even get? Stiles has been comforted by exactly two alphas in his life: his father, who had died four years ago and Lydia. Neither of whom ever so much as hugged him. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be held by an alpha. He’s not sure he’s ever given it any thought until this moment.</p><p>But then his alpha’s impossibly broad and solid and stable hands are running down his neck, brushing his side.</p><p>“My poor babe,” the alpha murmurs, his voice closer now. Stiles whines, wanting to be even closer, to be held and made safe. Everything seems so foreign and out of control right now.</p><p>“Your poor something,” the other voice laughs. “The doc said he’s going to be fine. Just probably not in a great mood when he wakes up in another kingdom, in your bed, reeking like Jackson Martin. But I didn’t really expect him to be excited about that regardless of how he ended up here.”</p><p>Stiles feels firm, broad hands running down his back soothing him, grounding him, fighting away from the nausea. He tries to lean into them, to wriggle closer, but he can’t move, he’s too ill and he just whines.</p><p>“You’re okay,” his alpha’s voice is murmuring to him deliciously, his lips just skimming the shell of Stiles’ ear. “I’m here.”</p><p>Why won’t you hold me? Stiles wonders. Whatever I did, I’m sorry. Just please make this stop. I can’t be alone right now and you’re so close but not as close as I need you to be...</p><p>“Look--” The other voice sounds tired. “I know this sounds really counter-intuitive and he’s here, finally home, where he belongs… but I wouldn’t get too much of my scent on him right now. He eh-- seems kind of like he maybe has some control issues. Like maybe waking up with a virtual stranger’s scent on him might cause him to panic and… yeah.”</p><p>“I’m not a stranger, Boyd,” Stiles’ alpha sounds irritated. “He knows me. Look--”</p><p>Stiles feels the warm hand that has been stroking its way through his hair soothingly retreat and feels panic welling up inside him. Unable to open his eyes he blindly tries to follow the touch with his head. He thinks he whines or maybe cries out. He can’t tell. His alpha is going to leave him like this and the spins are going to come back and he’s so cold--</p><p>The hand is back in his hair again and Stiles feels his whole body collapse in relief, followed by a spike of fear that his alpha may leave him again.</p><p>“Great,” Stiles’ alpha sounds annoyed, but Stiles can tell it isn’t directed at him. “Do you smell that? Now I’ve scared him.”</p><p>Stiles feels soft brushing over his forehead. It’s so delicate and yet the sensation causes Stiles to ache a little in his core. He has no idea what causes a feeling like that.</p><p>“I’m here,” his alpha tells him. “I’m not going anywhere. You need to rest.”</p><p>I can’t. Stiles thinks. I want to obey. I want to be good for you but I can’t calm down when you’re so far away. When you could get up and leave me and I wouldn’t know. And you will. You will leave me, alpha. Just like my mother and father and even Lydia all left.</p><p>“Shhh…” His alpha is quieting him, rubbing his back. One lone broad hand traversing Stiles’ neck and shoulders. Good, but not enough to quell the anxiety inside of Stiles. “Be good for me and rest.”</p><p>I want to be good for you. Stiles thinks. I want to be good for you so you’ll hold me and you won’t leave me. So you’ll come closer and I won’t be here alone. Like this.</p>
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<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Smell</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“JACKSON OH MY ACTUAL FUCKING GOD.”</p><p>He thinks he’s screaming this. But he also might be whispering it. He has no way to gauge any of this because his head feels like it’s going around and around in the dryer while at the same time not going anywhere. It seems to have nestled itself in the muscular celft of Prince Fucking Jackson Fucking Martin’s shoulder and he can’t move or open his eyes.</p><p>“It smells like a fucking alpha gym in here-- and not a female one. What the fuck did you do, Jackson?” He groans into the meat of the shoulder. Everything hurts. “Give me my fucking phone.” He holds out a hand and miraculously what feels like his phone lands in it.</p><p>“Call Lydia.” He orders the device, still unable to move or roll over or remember much of the last 15 hours.</p><p>“Stiles?” Stiles would recognize Lydia’s voice anywhere and he wants to weep for joy at the sound of the familiar alpha’s voice in his ear.</p><p>“I love you so much,” Stiles says in what he hopes is the direction of the phone. “But your omega is a cunt.”</p><p>“Yeah, I know,” Lydia says. “That’s why he’s being punished right now.”</p><p>“We’re being punished right now?” Stiles’ eyes attempt to snap open at the words, and he has to close them again immediately, groaning. It’s too bright and it hurts. He buries his face back in Jackson’s arm.</p><p>“What?” Lydia is saying. “You’ve been there like ten hours and he’s already punishing-- You know what? Not my relationship.”</p><p>Stiles tries to open his eyes again, this time with more success and looks up to see the shoulder he’d been resting on belongs to Derek Hale, who is also like five inches away from Stiles’ face, and well, doesn’t that just explain the smell? Suddenly, everything makes so much sense, except not at all because where is he and how did this happen?</p><p>At the sight of Derek’s face, Stiles hears himself yelp and fall off the bed.</p><p>“Stiles!” Lydia is yelling at him on speaker phone in her most alpha voice. “What is going on? Where are you? Jackson said he left you with Derek. I am going to murder him--”</p><p>“No,” Stiles grabs the phone. “I think… I think Jackson was telling you the truth. I mean… Derek is...definitely here… like....in the room.”</p><p>“Where are you?” Lydia asks. “Being punished?”</p><p>“Oh, definitely being punished,” Stiles mutters.</p><p>“Oh I am going to kill him-- put him on the phone!”</p><p>“This has less to do with Derek and more to do with karma.” Stiles says. “And whoever I killed in a past life to get this one.”</p><p>“You mean your current life where you rule a principality from a series of castles and are the most admired omega in the world?” Lydia snorts.</p><p>“I only actually take umbrage with one of those two things.” Stiles says.</p><p>But Derek is already calmly taking the phone, switching it off the speaker, and putting it to his ear.</p><p>“Princess Lydia, it’s Derek,” A pause. “He’s fine. I had an omega physician here to monitor Stiles all night and I sent a nurse back with Jackson. They were fine.” Another long pause, and then, softer, “You can come north to look in on him if you’d like. I thought I made it clear to you yesterday that although that is unorthodox I am open to you having you here if you think it’ll help him adjust but I don’t think it’s necessary.”</p><p>Another pause and Stiles can hear Derek moving deeper into the suite. “Because I don’t think he’s confused. I don’t think he’s accepted anyone as his primary alpha since his father and that relationship was almost in name only.” Another pause. “I don’t think anything is wrong. On the contrary I think Stiles is home now when he should have been granted to me immediately a year a half ago. He’s never going to get that year and a half back.” A long pause. “I am having no trouble whatsoever getting him to eat, hydrate, settle, or gentle and that’s even with the alcohol poisoning.”</p><p>Another pause. Then Derek sighs, “Lydia, I love him. And quite frankly it’s weird that I have to keep explaining this to Stiles’ camp.” A shorter pause. “He needs to be with me. I’m not sending him south.” Another pause. “Well then I won’t go on campaign! Lydia-- I’m not going to talk with you about this right now but if you try and take him from me I will kill whomever you send!”</p><p>So. Stiles is here. They made it to Brightbryne. There was a doctor. Jackson is probably grounded-- that little see you next Tuesday. Stiles smells like very expensive vomit and an alpha who has had his custody papers for all of a day and is already threatening to kill people over them. Nice to know your life proceeds exactly the way you think it will even when you’re off your ass.</p><p>He’s trying to catalogue the space, where they are-- an enormous immaculate suite. Interesting. What he’s wearing-- Jackson on Spring Break. Classy. What’s Derek doing? Looking concerned. Typical. How does he smell? Nope. He’s not going to think about that. That’s a big nope all around. May whatever happened over the last ten hours stay repressed forever.</p><p>He puts his hands over his face and groans, still on the floor of the suite. This enormous fur rug is nice and soft and… Jesus Christ the light.</p><p>“Maybe you’d feel better if you took a bath,” Derek sets Stiles’ phone on the sideboard and hands the omega a cold bottle of Stiles’ favorite brand of spring water from a hidden beverage fridge in the sideboard. “Do you want me to draw one for you?”</p><p>It’s been a rough 24 hours and Stiles doesn’t know if his brain has calibrated back to function all. All he does is open his mouth looking up at Derek from this amazing rug and says, “Where did you learn to work a bathtub?”</p><p>Derek just smiles at him, a small delighted smirk of a thing as if he’s never seen anything more enchanting than a hung-over nineteen year-old on his bedroom floor. Then he bends down and goes to scoop Stiles up. Stiles is so hyper-aware of this movement, has learned to see it at its earliest signs, he instantly holds out his arm, rigid, ready to push Derek away. There’s this moment where the two of them freeze and Stiles’ head starts racing, wondering if he’ll be scolded for his over-reaction.</p><p>Slowly, Stiles lowers his arm, not looking at Derek. “I’m fine. I can do it.”</p><p>He tries to keep his voice low, casual. As if nothing happened. He feels Derek’s scent thicken as the alpha sits back on his heels.</p><p>Stiles looks up. “Do I have any clothing around here that doesn’t smell like--” You? Sex? Comfort? Like way too much comfort for two strangers? Nirvana? “This.”</p><p>It’s the clothes, right? It’s how much they reek and how god-awful they are in general that’s making him fuck this up. Once he’s back in a pair of trousers he’ll be his old self and he can get on that video call with the dictator of whatever the hell he thinks he has today.</p><p>“Of course,” Derek smiles at him, watching Stiles carefully as the omega stands up shakily. “Mrs. Avis,” Derek calls through a gold intercom on the wall. “Prince Stiles is awake and asking to be dressed.”</p><p>When Avis bustles in with her usual neat navy skirt and small spectacles, Stiles doesn’t think he’s ever been happier to see anyone in his life. He actually hugs her.</p><p>“My word, child,” Avis sputters, unused to such familiarities. “You smell like you were drowned by the devil last night.” She tsks, and drapes a dressing gown of organic cotton gauze over the omega’s shoulders, leading Stiles by the elbow towards the large and shining bathroom.</p><p>“I know!” Stiles says miserably. “You have to fix me, Avis. Look at me!” A melodramatic sigh. “You’re the only one clever enough to put me to rights.”</p><p>“You always did think you could get me to look past your bad behavior with flattery,” Avis laughs. She sighs, “But I suppose you are still the most beautiful omega in the world even if you dress like an American, smoke like a chimney, and swear like a sailor. What would the press say if they knew Middlegreen’s goddess insisted on drinking his way through Colonel Martin’s vintages like a common spring break layabout?”</p><p>“I had to,” Stiles says, in a cheerfully winning tone. “I was a dead man walking.”</p><p>“Oh child,” Avis snorts. “If it’s not international intrigue we both know you don’t know if you’re coming or going.”</p><p>Avis pokes out her head from the bathroom door and addresses the prince. “Good morning again, Your Grace. I was informed by your chief of staff you’re expecting a group of children within the hour.”</p><p>“Uh, yes,” Derek blinks at her. The way her no nonsense face is indicating towards the door, he thinks he may actually be being swept out of his own rooms by his wife’s housekeeper. “In the Portland Courtyard.”</p><p>They stare at each other for another moment before Avis says, “I was told by my sister who works in Lord and Lady Gordon’s household that private royal house protocol here was comparable to Longfire.”</p><p>“I would imagine so,” Again, Derek is trying to reconcile that this is happening to him at all, let alone in his own rooms.</p><p>“Ah,” Avis gives him a tight smile. “In that case, might I suggest you step out and let me attend to his majesty. With the steam the smells can linger, you know.”</p><p>The prince blinks at her for a moment longer as if it takes time for the words to physically travel through his brain. Then he shakes his head as if coming out of a trance.</p><p>“If he needs anything--” Derek starts.</p><p>“I will call Dr. Ling,” Avis smiles, understandingly.</p><p>“You will call me first.” Derek holds up his wrist. There is a very small, very advanced communication device worn by most of the royals and their senior staff members to communicate confidential information at all times. “Mrs. Avis,” The prince rises to his full height. “You’ve been the head of Stiles’ household for how long now?”</p><p>“Princess Claudia appointed me Prince Stiles’ primary nursemaid when she fell pregnant.” Avis says. “I assumed my current role after her death.” She pauses. “It was in the princess’s will. It was her wish that I care for her child.”</p><p>“She was a wise woman.” Derek nods. He pauses, looking serene. “Stiles is safe here, Mrs. Avis. I understand Longfire has gone four years now without an official dominant alpha. I am the heir apparent to Halebryne, I am the high commander of the Blackbryne forces. This is my land. These are my people and Stiles is my queen. He’s my mate. I will be obeyed and respected as such.”</p><p>“Of course, Your Grace,” Mrs. Avis smiles tightly and respectfully lowers her eyes. It is a graceful act of omega submission perfected over a long career of working with and for royals. Then she looks up, “But if I might offer a word of caution from an old omega woman.” She pauses. “Stiles is our queen. And until our queen has informed us that he has acknowledged a king we bow to no other. Nor do we entrust his care-- his <em>safety</em> with anyone else.”</p><p>Derek stares at the woman for another moment before giving her a nod and turns and walks from the room. Avis smiles to herself and turns back to the bathroom.</p><p>“Turn off the water, Avis,” Stiles says, sitting on a boudoir chair nursing a water bottle. “My ears can’t take the noise.”</p><p>“Begging your pardon, Your Highness,” Avis says, twisting one of the taps on the large, perfectly round ivory soaking tub. “Let me turn up the fire. You must be freezing.” She adjusts the electric fireplace in the wall. “Come,” she says briskly, pulling the prince’s clothing off with a practiced hand. She tsks again. “You’re getting too slender. You’re all bones and angles. I’ll have Angelo put protein in your smoothie this morning.”</p><p>Stiles frowns, sinking into the water. “I want matcha. Do they have that here?”</p><p>“Everything you have in Longfire they have in the kitchens here.” Avis assures her charge, pouring an exact measurement of hand-mixed shampoo into her hand and attacking Stiles’ head.</p><p>“How do you know?” Stiles asks. “They only found out I was coming yesterday.”</p><p>“Mr. Townsend contacted me immediately for our household invoices.” She says, “Now shut your eyes so I can rinse your scalp.” She picks up an ivory pitcher.</p><p>“What did he want?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“Mr. Townsend?”</p><p>“No.” Stiles frowns, shutting his eyes as warm water is poured over his head. “The prince. Why did it take him so long to leave?”</p><p>“He wanted to tell me the same thing he’s been telling me for ten years,” Mrs. Avis smiles. “That you’re his wife.”</p><p>“He’s been telling you that for ten years?” Stiles stares at her. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?”</p><p>“Dearest child, do you know how many of the alpha heirs have told your staff that over the years?” Mrs. Avis smiles and pours aromatic oil into the water.</p><p>“No!” Stiles says, horrified.</p><p>“Well, of course you don’t,” Avis says. “I’ve forbidden your staff to bring up such vicious nonsense in your company. You were a child. You didn’t need to hear such perversion.” She looks at Stiles. “You’re still a child.”</p><p>“My mother had been mated for two years at my age,” Stiles says.</p><p>“And you are not yet mated,” Mrs. Avis says pragmatically. “Although I’ll give the Hale heir points for luck and perseverance.” She sniffs. “As for why it took so long to get rid of him, I’d say it was because now that he’s actually got you into his house he’s afraid to take his eyes off you.”</p><p>“Well, he better get used to keeping his eyes off of me.” Stiles says sullenly.</p><p>“Oh? And why’s that?” Avis asks.</p><p>“Because I obviously can’t stay here.” Stiles sulks.</p><p>“You’ve seen two rooms and you already don’t like it? Halebryne can be quite beautiful, you know,” Mrs. Avis says.</p><p>“It’s not that,” Stiles says. “It’s a palace. Every palace is… a palace.” He sighs. “I can’t think here. I’ll never be able to work.” Stiles makes a face. “The smell…”</p><p>“Ah,” Mrs. Avis smiles a knowing smile. “It’s distinct.”</p><p>“It’s obnoxious.”</p><p>“It’s better in other… areas of the house, Your Highness.” Avis.</p><p>Stiles frowns. “Better is better. Better is not gone.” He stares out the bathroom’s bay window, looking out over the deserted lush grounds. “Perhaps, I should visit Chuchaste.”</p><p>Avis stops washing the omega’s back and looks at him. “Stiles-- you’ve promised Hale an heir.”</p><p>“I promised to co-parent, not co-rule.” Stiles snorts. “Anyways prince and princesses are all brought up by people like you anyways, Mrs. Avis.”</p><p>“I’ve been around a lot of alphas in my day, a lot of generals, and kings, and warriors, and parliamentary members.” Mrs. Avis says. “You’ve promised that alpha an heir-- a child-- and he thinks of you as his wife. Not his intended. Not his betrothed pending parliamentary rule-- his wife now.” She stands up and pulls out a bath sheet. “That is a powerful notion, Your Highness.”</p><p>“He can’t keep me here,” Stiles says, and Avis also recognizes the way the prince’s bottom lip goes firm. “Nobody can keep me here.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Fucked and More Fucked</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I’m not sorry you were punished,” Stiles smiles at Jackson’s face on his phone as he speaks into his airpods. He’s walking around one of the smaller kitchens, right off Derek’s sitting room, which is off the bedchamber, drinking a smoothie out of a champagne glass and looking for a place to read the Times and try not to die.</p><p>“I’m not either,” Jackson smirks, his blue eyes turning wicked. “We should do that more often.”</p><p>“We?” Stiles laughs. “Like you and me?”</p><p>“Yeah,” Jackson says, leaning back and stretching. The omega is shamelessly shirtless, the exhibitionist, wearing nothing but low hanging shorts and the serenely satisfied expression Stiles has seen in other omegas after they have been completely broken down and made whole again by their alphas. “You and me. Me and Lydia. Fuck. The whole thing was worth repeating.” Jackson smirks and looks mysterious. “When do you go to Churchaste? I bet we could really get fucked up on the flight over there.”</p><p>Even though Stiles is wearing secured earbuds and he knows his phone is virtually unhackable, he looks up and around in alarm to make sure nobody has heard.</p><p>“Why would you think I’d do that?” Stiles asks quietly.</p><p>Jackson smiles mischievously, and the sunlight from his private terrace glints off a pave gold and diamond collar. “Because you’re you. And you like to know every possible eventuality.”</p><p>“Right.” Stiles frowns. He looks around paranoidly.</p><p>“Hey,” Jackson shrugs. “I don’t see a ring on it.”</p><p>“Oof.” A ring. Gross. Stiles hadn't even considered that possible... nightmare.</p><p>“And last I checked parliament wasn’t in session and so there’s no way anyone is going to be approving Hale’s mating rights any time soon.” Jackson grins, and toasts Stiles with his own champagne glass filled with some kind of pre-workout.</p><p>“Parliament won’t move on either the Hale approval or the Church repeal without word from Longfire,” Stiles says quietly.</p><p>“What does that mean?” Jackson asks.</p><p>“It means,” Stiles almost whispers, “That the agreement the Royal House of Stilinski has with the Parliament of Middlegreen is that parliament will approve who the House approves and deny who the House denies.”</p><p>“Who’s the House?” Jackson asks, reminding Stiles of how exhausting it is to be his friend sober.</p><p>“Me, Jackson!” He snaps. “I’m the Royal House of Stilinski.”</p><p>“Oh!” Jackson says. Then his eyes widen as this sinks in. “Oh. Who knows about this?”</p><p>“My staff and the most persuadable majority of Parliament.” Stiles smirks.</p><p>“Is this even legal?” Jackson asks. “To let us-- you know-- choose?”</p><p>“It is if Parliament expects to survive next year’s elections,” Stiles snarls.</p><p>“So we are going to Churchaste,” Jackson says, smiling.</p><p>“No,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “We are not going to Churchaste. I’ve been here like a day and already you’re plotting to sneak me into a rival’s castle.”</p><p>“Exactly!” Jackson says. “I’m plotting-- not Churchaste, not Hale, not you-- not anybody involved in your whole… mating saga. We’re just the two world’s most fuckable omegas going to a party.” Stiles can see Jackson is scrolling through social media like a pro with one of his three other cell phones.</p><p>“The world’s most fuckable omegas?” Stiles groans.</p><p>“That’s what TMZ called us when they papped us in Ibiza last winter.” Jackson says. “Unless they just thought I was two people? I don’t know.”</p><p>“They must have thought you were two people,” Stiles laughs about the absurdity. “How can I be the world’s most fuckable omega if I’ve never… done that.”</p><p>“Well, first of all they said, ‘most fuckable’ not ‘most fucked,’” Jackson clarifies. “Although, fun fact-- I’m also probably that too. I mean, there’s a reason why they call the James’ brothers the Jackson five now.”</p><p>“You whore,” Stiles says fondly. “How did Lydia get a ring on you?”</p><p>“It took like three hours and a pair of thigh high stiletto boots,” Jackson says soberly. “And anyways it’s not like I got fucked until her. I mean, I was technically a virgin when we mated. But ‘technically’ is flexible.”</p><p>“I would have no idea,” Stiles admits.</p><p>“Seriously?” Jackson says, looking a little shocked and more than a little concerned.</p><p>“Seriously.”</p><p>“You haven’t done anything?” Jackson asks.</p><p>“I brokered a peace agreement between Yemen and Oman,” Stiles says, laughing.</p><p>“Well that’s nothing to write home about,” Jackson snorts. He pauses. “I mean-- you’ve been kissed, right?”</p><p>“Not… like that,” Stiles says. “I’ve been busy.”</p><p>“Doing what?” Jackson asks. “You haven’t even kissed a beta?”</p><p>“No,” Stiles shrugs. “I’ve never wanted to.”</p><p>“You’ve wanted to,” Jackson says. “Well, maybe not a beta.”</p><p>“I mean, I guess I’ve always thought that if I wasn’t… if things were different and I was free to… choose, I would choose a beta,” Stiles says.</p><p>“Nah,” Jackson says. “Betas are garbage for us. I mean, they’re fucking great for fucking with alphas. Nothing gets them more riled up than seeing their mates sucking face with someone unworthy. But a beta for a beta’s sake? Nah. Hard pass. They have no idea what to do with you once they have you.”</p><p>“I’ve spent the last two years of my life being told at length in court documents exactly what these alphas want from me,” Stiles smiles wryly. “I think a little ambivalence would be refreshing.”</p><p>“It’s not.” Jackson rolls his eyes. “You’re telling me that you don’t get the itch every so often to have someone strong who smells like fucking everything tell you to sit down, shut up, turn off that big brain of yours, hold you down with their teeth and just take care of you?”</p><p>“I mean…” Stiles stops. That image. That’s terrifying and for some insane reason Stiles is even more aware of the way Derek’s scent is infused in everything around him. “I don’t know. Sounds… scary.”</p><p>“It’s not,” Jackson shrugs. “I think I’m the only person on earth who isn’t afraid of Lydia.”</p><p>“That’s true,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I heard Derek threaten to kill her staff today if they tried to come bring me to Martinsdale, so I guess we can assume even he’s a little afraid of her.”</p><p>Jackson snorts, “Does he think that’s going to stop her?”</p><p>“Why aren’t you afraid of Lydia?” Stiles asks, unsure if a creature like Jackson is even capable of giving him data in the form of a complete sentence.</p><p>“I don’t know,” Jackson shrugs. “She loves me.”</p><p>Stiles thinks back to earlier when Derek had told Lydia he loved him. At the time it hadn’t really registered with Stiles as anything. Stiles is so used to alphas-- ones he doesn’t know even-- proclaiming their love for him. It was just something people said. The way everyone always asks everyone, “How are you?” and then never waits for a response.</p><p>“Did you believe her?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“Did I believe her how?” Jackson looks bored.</p><p>“The first time Lydia told you she loved you-- did you believe her?” Stiles clarifies.</p><p>“Yes,” the bored look again.</p><p>“Why?” Stiles asks. “You had other suitors. Another alpha challenged Lydia’s claim of imprinting on you as well.” For an entire summer it had been all the courts had gossiped about. “Why did you believe her when she said she loved you?”</p><p>“Because she told me she did.” Jackson looks confused again. “And-- I don’t know-- I believed her because I loved her.” He pauses, searching for words. “Like, I loved her in this way that made me think that maybe she wasn’t lying. Like, maybe the alphas haven’t just been lying to us all this time-- all the time-- about loving us.” Jackson pauses. “Because I mean, I love her and I’m not lying about that.”</p><p>“Have you lied about that?” Stiles asks. “I mean, to other people before Lydia?”</p><p>“No,” Jackson says. “I mean, even if I didn’t love her, I don’t think I could lie about that. Not to her. Not to anyone.”</p><p>Stiles pauses, considering. “You’re not one of them.”</p><p>“One of what?” Jackson is definitely confused and maybe a little bored, so he’s pretty much par for the course.</p><p>“You’re not an alpha,” Stiles says simply. “You don’t know what it is to want things. To want to own them. To want to master them. You don’t have that barbarism in you.”</p><p>“So, where do you get it from?” Jackson asks. “You’re not an alpha.”</p><p>“I’m lucky,” Stiles says. “Every generation has a face that launches a thousand ships and I’m this one’s reluctant Helen of Troy.”</p><p>“I know you hate the attention,” Jackson says. “I know you’ve always hated it.”</p><p>“I shouldn’t complain about the attention,” Stiles sighs. “The attention is what makes all the treaties, and cease fires, and peace declarations possible. I recognize that everyone has a part to play in this world and this, apparently is mine.” He sighs. “I was born to demand a high price and because I can demand such a high price, I want my mating to prevent crisis and catastrophe and radicalization in one of the most critically important parts in the world.”</p><p>“You’re asking for world peace,” Jackson snorts.</p><p>“I will mate, Jackson,” Stiles says. “I will produce an heir for at least one, if not two of our Royal Houses, if I must, but if I’m going to give up my world, then in exchange I want the world to be set back to rights for millions of omegas who can’t make that deal. Who don’t have that option.” Stiles sighs, “Whoever can deliver on that will have me for his queen.”</p><p>“Do you think he can do it? Hale?” Jackson asks. “Do you even want him to succeed?”</p><p>“Of course I want at least one of them to,” Stiles sighs. “It’s a clusterfuck over there and we can’t have a nuclear war. And if I didn’t think Hale had the edge on delivering I wouldn’t be here.”</p><p>“Aha!” Jackson says triumphantly, “Lord McCall’s throwing a rager at Hasteborn Castle next week. And the Crown Prince Michael is McCall’s closest friend.” He grins at Stiles. “Oh, we are doing this.”</p><p>“I haven’t even been here a week,” Stiles rolls his eyes.</p><p>“So? You will have been by then,” Jackson shrugs.</p><p>“You don’t think they might recognize ‘the world’s two most fuckable omegas?!” Stiles snaps.</p><p>“They won’t. It’s a masque.” Jackson says.</p><p>“I have the most famous smell in the world,” Stiles says. “They make perfume of it in fucking France, Jackson!”</p><p>“Whoa-- did you find a metric ton of that shit hidden in Derek’s room yet?” Jackson laughs and Stiles kind of hates him.</p><p>“Keep this up and my first kiss will be with Lydia,” Stiles snarls.</p><p>“That’s… actually kind of hot,” Jackson reasons.</p><p>“I hate you,” Stiles says.</p><p>“Look, you said it yourself on the plane,” Jackson says. “You’re not married. You’re not even officially betrothed. So, far you’ve promised him a baby, not fidelity. That’s not even like a real thing. He can’t even complain about this.”</p><p>“Remember when I told you my basic life’s philosophy, don’t start World War III?!” Stiles thinks he’s having a heart attack.</p><p>“They wouldn’t over this,” Jackson snorts. “Not over you.”</p><p>“These are the Hales, Jackson,” Stiles says. “When it comes to war they’re already in the car.”</p><p>“How should I know,” Jackson laughs. “I was a social media marketing major.”</p><p>“I forgot you’re a garbage person,” Stiles sighs.</p><p>“Just think about it,’ Jackson says. “They won’t even know we were there. We’ll wear masks, and scent-blockers. We don’t even have to talk to Michael. We’ll just, you know, check out the situation.”</p><p>“Fine,” Stiles sighs. “I’ll think about it.”</p><p>"Look--" Jackson says, "Either way you're fucked, dude. You might as well know how fucked."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. A Window</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Excuse me,” Stiles approaches an exceedingly tall, exceedingly blonde alpha in a smart black suit who is currently bending over to inspect the work of three others polishing silver. “Mr. Townsend, is it?”</p><p>Mr. Townsend nearly jumps a foot in the air at the sound of his voice. The immaculately dressed man recovers quickly and masks his surprise with deference.</p><p>“Your Grace-- Prince Stiles-- I do apologize I did not see you there,” He straightens and steps easily in front of the mess on the table as if mortified at the idea of Stiles having to witness something as common as cleaning. “How can I be of service to you?”</p><p>Stiles watches Mr. Townsend’s shocked and scadelizd expression. He’s stalked Derek’s chief of staff to a back catering kitchen that feels like it took days to find.</p><p>“You’re head of staff here?” Stiles asks, and he smiles at the three women sitting behind him. “I’m sorry to interrupt your work.”</p><p>“On the contrary, Your Grace, we are quite honored to have the Queen visit us here,” Mr. Townsend and the women beam. “I am the head of Prince Derek’s staff and if it is not impertinent, Your Grace, may I just speak for all the staff in saying how eagerly we have awaited your arrival. We have been praying for you and your continued health and victories for many years, Your Highness.” All the while, Mr. Townsend has been smoothly ushering Stiles out of the kitchen, back into the more regal looking living quarters.</p><p>“Queen?” Stiles looks at him.</p><p>“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Mr. Townsend says, smiling. “I meant, Queen Apparent. That is, I am not speaking out of turn-- her Grace, Queen Talia has long referred to you as the Young Queen of Halebryne and the staff have followed suit.”</p><p>Stiles digests this piece of information before smiling at Mr. Townsend, “There is no need to take such formalities with me, Mr. Townsend. My own staff never bother with them.” He pauses, “And I am the Queen Apparent of Longfire. Nothing more, nothing less.” He smiles.</p><p>“Of course, Your Grace,” Mr. Townsend bows graciously. “How may I be of service to you? Are you finding everything to your liking?”</p><p>Stiles pauses, “I can’t complain.”</p><p>“If you desire any change at all, please do let me know,” Mr. Townsend says. “I am under strict orders from Prince Derek to make certain you have everything you desire.” He pauses. “Can I have some tea brought for you, Your Grace?”</p><p>“No, thank you,” Stiles says. “I was told by Avis-- you know, my head of staff-- said Princess Laura was here to see me and for the life of me I cannot find her.”</p><p>“I understand,” Mr. Townsend says. “Princess Laura has requested the honor of your presence in the Dutch kitchen. Please allow me to escort you there.” The alpha bends down, opens a hidden cabinet and pulls another water bottle out of a hidden beverage refrigerator. He hands it to him. “If you would, Your Grace.”</p><p>“People keep handing me these,” Stiles says.</p><p>“Prince Derek sends messages for me to relay to the staff every morning and today he was very clear we are to be ensuring you’re properly hydrated, Your Grace.” Mr. Townsend says, sounding a little apologetic.</p><p>“That’s thoughtful of him,” Stiles says dryly. “Mr. Townsend, please inform the staff tomorrow that if they see Prince Derek they are to offer him a Tab soda immediately.”</p><p>“If that is what your wish--”</p><p>“It is,” Stiles says. Derek isn’t the only one who can utilize staff.</p><p>They turn a corner into a sunny kitchen which is modern but still cozy, like something out of a luxury home, not a castle. Standing at the open window over the sink is Princess Laura, a woman hailed as one of great alpha beauties. And she is lovely, Stiles thinks, tall and strong like Derek with a cascade of raven hair and glowing green eyes like emeralds. She’s dressed immaculately in all black, every inch a Hale warrior princess.</p><p>“Your Majesty,” Stiles curtsies a formal omega curtsy.</p><p>“Stiles,” Laura’s voice is infinitely warm, as if they already know each other. “Hail to your beauty, Prince Stiles of Longfire.” She bows. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you right now.”</p><p>“I do read the court documents, Laura,” Stiles says. “I am well aware of your signature on most of them. I can imagine how happy you are to see me right now.”</p><p>Laura smiles, “How are you? Have you recovered from the flight?”</p><p>“I… getting there,” Stiles says. “I’m sorry if we’ve met before and I don’t remember.”</p><p>“It’s alright, darling,” Laura says and Stiles marvels at how easily and totally dominant and alpha she is. Until he met Derek he had never quite met an alpha who could fill an entire room before. “It was a hard day for all of us. But a very happy one.” She pauses. “You may be wondering why I’m wanting to speak to you.”</p><p>“I know you plan most of the special ops missions,” Stiles says, leveling with her.</p><p>“That’s classified,” Laura says, smiling. She is radiant. “How did you know that?”</p><p>“You and I both know how I know that,” Stiles says.</p><p>“Well, I’m going to assume it wasn’t Derek as he hasn’t been allowed near you in years, but you know if you had just started hooking up with him two years ago, you’d have all of our national secrets by now.” Laura laughs.</p><p>“Seducing alphas for information,” Stiles states this, looking Laura in the eye. “Not my style.”</p><p>“Of course not,” Laura smiles as well. Her teeth are impossibly white. “But seducing them for covert military advantages that will save millions of lives--” She pauses, looking at him.</p><p>“Is that what you’re here about?” Stiles asks dismissively. “You think I’m going to seduce your brother so he’ll wipe out a terrorist network and a few dictators?” He shakes his head. “The US could have done it.”</p><p>“Given ten times the amount of time it’ll take us, maybe they could,” Laura says. She puts down her glass of water. “And we both know you wouldn’t have to seduce him.” She pauses and in a rare moment Stiles thinks he sees her armor drop for just a moment and when her voice comes back it’s the smallest bit fractured. “He would have just done it. He wouldn’t have even asked for an heir or your mating rights or anything from you at all. He would have just done it.” She laughs humorlessly. “In fact, that was your biggest mistake in this whole thing.” She looks at him sadly. “You sold yourself short, kid.”</p><p>“Laura,” Stiles' own voice sounds wooden to his ears. “Why are you here?”</p><p>The beautiful alpha squares her shoulders at him, “Because you’ve proven you can be bought--”</p><p>“Every omega can be bought!” Stiles hisses, his eyes narrowing with anger. “That’s the purpose of being an omega!”</p><p>“Not in this family,” Laura growls. “In this family of an omega is to be loved and cherished and adored.” She looks away and Stiles thinks she might be blinking back tears. “You can’t see. There’s something in you I don’t understand but you can’t see the way he loves you.”</p><p>Stiles stares at her for a long moment before sinking into a chair, “Laura, I am not the bad person here.”</p><p>“Of course not,” Laura sniffs. “You’ve been nominated for a Nobel Peace Prize.”</p><p>“Laura,” Stiles says. “You knew. This whole time. All these months. The past three or maybe even four years.” He looks up at her. “I’ve seen the emails and the text messages and the reworked plans. You knew years ago it would come down to Tura, that I would need Tura. You could have just kept it to yourself. Halebryne had no other reasons to be involved in that part of the world. But you didn’t. You infiltrated and you led us all to this moment.”</p><p>Laura just smiles at Stiles through her tears, “He’s my brother. And he’s an amazing leader and commander and prince and alpha. He’s given up everything for this family, for our people. You’re the only thing he’s ever wanted for himself. How could I deny him that?”</p><p>Stiles sighs, feeling a million years old. “So, what are you doing here? What do you want from me?”</p><p>“I’m a strategist.” Laura says. “I’ll give you Tura. I’m the one giving you Tura, make no mistake, but in return I want information. How long, Stiles? How long before you leave him? Will it be now before the damage spreads even further? Or will you give him a child first? Leave him with memories of your pregnancy and a small version of you to haunt him for the rest of his life? Or will you do it after that, after you’ve lived as a family? That’s what I want to know. How long do we have and how far are you going to take this?”</p><p>Stiles sits there for a long moment before he looks the alpha in the eye and says, “I don’t know.” He takes a breath. “The only reason I say that is because I’m trying to be honest with you and I don’t know.” Stiles sets his jaw and looks at Laura. “I intend to take this as far as I need to.”</p><p>“That’s what I thought,” Laura says. “Before you go can you just do one thing for me? Can you just come up here by the window and listen to this?”</p><p>Stiles joins her and hears Derek’s upbeat voice carrying in the wind. “What’s he doing?”</p><p>“Every Tuesday morning he has a group of alpha foster kids over for breakfast,” Laura says. “He helps them with their homework and talks to them about alpha shit.”</p><p>Stiles leans into the breeze and listens.</p><p>#</p><p>“I don’t know, Derek,” Todd, one of the kids who’s been coming around Derek’s breakfasts the longest shrugs, moving around his eggs with a golden fork. “I just like him, is all.”</p><p>“Well, have you told him that?” Derek asks, smiling, refilling orange juice.</p><p>“No,” Todd turns red. “I mean, I’m an alpha, he’s an omega. He should know, right? I mean, omegas are more sensitive and stuff. He should know exactly how I feel about him. I mean,” Todd turns even more red and the table laughs. “We kiss a lot and stuff. I wouldn’t do that if I didn’t really like him.”</p><p>“Yeah, omegas do tend to be more skilled communicators,” Derek says, and the table quiets. “But that doesn’t mean that we as alphas get a pass on communication. If anything it’s a sign that we need to try even harder than they do.”</p><p>“But isn’t it like, in an omega’s nature to want to please us?” Lindsay, a seventeen year-old asks. “So, if we don’t want to talk, doesn’t that also mean they don’t want to talk because that’s what we want?” The table murmurs with interest.</p><p>“Look,” Derek says, “let me put it this way. I know we’ve talked a lot about liking omega or even falling in love one day. How many of you think that once you have fallen in love with an omega, that it’s now their job to keep you satisfied, to keep you happy? I see.” Derek nods at the hands. “A lot of us grow up like that. But the reality is-- if I fall in love with an omega, that’s not the omega’s problem-- that’s my problem. I’ll say it again: The fact that I have fallen in love with this omega is my problem, not his. From that moment on it became my job to build a life where I could offer him safety and shelter and security and anything else he could possibly need. And I was happy to do that, because the fact that this perfect, incredible person had decided to trust me with his most vulnerable needs is the best thing that could ever happen to an alpha. That is the ultimate fulfillment of being an alpha.”</p><p>“Is it true that you just mated with Prince Stiles?” One the girls asks and the whole table erupts.</p><p>“Stiles and I are in a probationary period right now,” Derek says, laughing. “It happens when your omega is involved with complicated legal matters.”</p><p>“Is he really that beautiful?” Someone asks.</p><p>“Does he really smell that good?” Someone else calls.</p><p>“Guys,” Derek laughs. “I’m his husband. Of course, I think he’s even more beautiful than the press could ever describe and his scent is unbelievable.”</p><p>“Goodness, Derek,” A cool voice cuts through the excited babble as Stiles Stilinski strolls up to the al fresco dining situation and fifteen alphas all stare a the Longfire prince, properly clean and shined up to his usual luster, with custom tailored cream vicuna wool trousers, a light blue linen shirt, and a cream vest. A string of pave blue diamonds from Lydia adorn his throat. “I hope you don’t often tell outrageous lies about me to your friends.”</p><p>Derek is utterly transfixed by how anyone real could be that beautiful. He can only gape as Stiles flashes his media smile at the teenagers and stop next to Derek, close, a unified front. Derek leans in closer, scenting the omega’s neck. He’s so beautiful and he smells insane and Derek can’t help it.</p><p>“Good morning, my Ragia,” Derek says. My little jewel. My beautiful one. My omega. My reason for living. “Do you want some orange juice? It’s pulpless, like you like.”</p><p>“No, thank you,” Stiles ignores the fact that Derek knows weird things about his orange juice habits. He pulls out a water bottle from his pants’ pocket. “Do you want a water bottle? I was offered four of them on my way down here.” Stiles smiles in a way that Derek recognizes as the omega inwardly screaming in annoyance.</p><p>“The staff love you as much as I do,” He can’t stop bending down, Getting close enough to the omega’s skin to feel it’s heat. They shouldn’t be here, together in the same space with a bunch of kids. They should be back in their room and he should be stroking every inch of Stiles’ skin-- first through clothes and then without them.</p><p>“I just came down because the staff said you were hosting a group of teenagers and--” Stiles smiles up at him. “You know, I am one.”</p><p>“You also started running a principality when you were fifteen,” Derek says, also smiling. He reaches out with one arm. Stiles is so close all it takes is the barest shift for Stiles to fall into him. For a second Stiles’ media face breaks and his looks up at Derek, surprised, as his small body melts against Derek’s. The alpha can’t help it. He raises one hand and rubs a small circle at the pressure point on the base of Stiles skull and feels the omega shudder a moment later.</p><p>“Is it true you don’t believe in imprinting?” One of the kids asks this and shakes Derek and Stiles out of their momentary daze. Maria, one of the more intelligent 16 year-olds is looking inquisitively at Stiles.</p><p>“I’m sorry, what?” Stiles asks the alpha girl.</p><p>“I read that you don’t believe in imprinting,” Maria says. “I read that’s why it’s taken Derek so long to gain custody of you. Your kingdom says you don’t believe his claim.”</p><p>Stiles’ face is carefully calm, carefully pleasant but Derek can feel Stiles stiffen next to him. “I think imprinting is very complicated--”</p><p>“He told us he imprinted on you.” Maria says. “You’re saying you think he’s lying.”</p><p>“No,” Stiles says quickly, vehement. “I don’t think Derek would lie to you about that or about anything else!” He can feel his omega tense, and he knows Stiles has no desire to lie to these kids either. Stiles pauses, swallowing.</p><p>“My mom died when I was four.” He finally says. “And after that, my dad was away a lot until I was fifteen... when he died.” Stiles takes a breath. “And then they kept Derek and I away from each other for some time. A long time.” Stiles looks down and talks quickly. “Not because he’s dangerous or because he did something wrong, it’s just… we couldn’t be together. Not right then.”</p><p>Stiles takes a breath, the kids hanging on his every word, “And I think it hurt him to be away from me.” Derek can feel Stiles’ heartbeat hammering in his heart and he squeezes his omega’s hand. “And I think it hurt me too. And one of the ways it hurt me is that I don’t always understand the way Derek loves me…” Stiles trails off. “They call it imprinting and maybe that’s what it is, but at the end of the day it doesn’t matter. At the end of the day we still have things we both need to be doing and people who depend on us.” Stiles looks up at the kids. “The way an alpha loves and protects and cares for his omega-- that’s what I need to do for my people.”</p>
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<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Twenty Minutes of Marriage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For twenty glorious, amazing, incredible moments, everything is right Derek’s world as Stiles has his media face on for the kids. He is kind and enthusiastic and answers the kids’ increasingly bizarre questions gracefully and with humor. Derek had thought the kids were crazy about him before, but it’s clear the alpha teens adore Stiles. The boys stare at him in awed wonder as if they’ve never seen an omega in their lives and the girls blush and giggle and swoon over his jewelry. But as thrilled as Derek is to see Stiles interacting with Halebryne’s youth, he selfishly thinks the best part of this is liberties Stiles is letting Derek take with him for the kids’ benefit. Stiles is his bubbling, perky self, the way he always is on TV, posing for selfies and signing autographs for the kids, but he also allows Derek to be close to him in a way that looks natural for a young, engaged couple who are in love. He lets Derek lean over him protectively, one arm curved around the omega’s slender waist as they listen to Joy’s story about her foster parents’ cat. Stiles allows Derek to run a hand over his head, through his hair-- a gesture of security, but also of ownership. He smiles up at Derek like the omega could really love him, like this could really be their lives. And Derek is starved for it, has been starved for Stiles’ affection for years. He can’t help but be greedy. He can’t keep his hands off Stiles’ delicate omega neck. He always figured it would be tight-- that’s where omegas carry their stress-- he never thought it would be this bad. After this, he’s going to lay Stiles down on their bed and work every painful knot out until Stiles is sighing and wrung out and will sleep like a baby. </p><p>“What?” Stiles asks, smiling up at him as one of the girls admires his emerald ring. “My friend Lydia gave it to me.” He says to Lindsay. </p><p>“Princess Lydia?” One of the girls had whispered excitedly. </p><p>“Yes,” Stiles smiles at the fawning girls. “She’s a strong alpha. She’s always been so giving to me and the omegas around her. She is so conscious of our needs.” </p><p>“Is it true that Martinsdale is famous for its emeralds?” Maria asks, admiring the bauble. </p><p>“Yes,” Stiles says. “Their jewelers are the best in the world. That’s why Prince Jackson looks… like that.” </p><p>“Where is your ring from Derek?” Joy asks. </p><p>Derek watches Stiles face freeze and a little color drain from it, but his smile appears to be fireproof. Derek immediately feels terrible. He’d meant to propose when they’d met to discuss the temporary custody order for the first time. He’d meant to get down on his knee and look Stiles in the eye and do it correctly with the ring he’d had made for Stiles two years ago. But the omega had shocked him with his brusque, non-romantic attitude, all he’d been able to do when Stiles had dismissed him was stare. Still, Derek should have proposed. Stiles deserves a ring. He deserves to be properly cherished and a ring would be one way of telling the world that Derek does cherish him. </p><p>But Stiles is smiling at the kids again as if he hasn’t just been asked a loaded question. “Derek knows a ring isn’t what I want from him,” he laughs and the kids laugh too. “Isn’t that right, darling?” Stiles bats his beautiful eyes up at Derek. </p><p>“Stiles has a ring from me,” Derek tells the kids, wrapping his arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him into his side. Stiles lets him. He smells so beautiful. “He won’t sit still long enough for me to get it on him.” </p><p>“It’s unnecessary,” Stiles laughs, and Derek notes how Stiles is keeping his tone light. </p><p>“And yet you’ll wear a ring from Princess Lydia,” Derek can’t stop himself from saying. </p><p>Stiles looks up at him with a wide smile, but the omega’s eyes are angry. “Maybe she has better taste than you.” He and the kids laugh. </p><p>Derek shifts, maneuvering Stiles slightly so the omega is in front of him and he can wrap both arms around him. Stiles is warm and for one second, the omega tips his head back, only slightly so it can rest against Derek’s chest-- only for a moment. A wonderful moment. </p><p>“My pretty boy,” Derek smiles and says this against Stiles’ perfect ear. “You’re tired, I can tell.” And he can. He can smell waves of exhaustion and anxiety pouring off his omega in waves from the last few days. He’s always been more sensitive to Stiles’ scent. He could tell from across a crowded ballroom if the omega was tired or hungry or if Stiles had a headache. </p><p>“And I can tell you worry too much,” Stiles laughs.   </p><p>“You need a nap,” Derek says, smiling and running his thumb down Stiles’ arm. The omega is so smooth and lightly browned from the summer. </p><p>“You need a hobby,” Stiles says. </p><p>“You two are so cute together,” One of the girls sighs. </p><p>#</p><p>The kids have been escorted away by the pages and Derek and Stiles are standing alone in the courtyard, Stiles still in Derek’s arms. The moment the last kid can be heard exiting through the Dutch kitchen, every muscle in the omega immediately tenses again and Stiles quickly steps away from him. But Derek is too reluctant to let Stiles go, wants to keep him here, wants the moment to last a little longer. Part of him understands logically that Stiles is overwhelmed by all of the changes, stressed from four years of international crises, and not crazy about Derek in general, but another part of Derek doesn’t understand why it can’t be this good, this perfect all the time. His hands follow Stiles’ body until the omega steps cleanly away. </p><p>“They were sweet,” Stiles says, indicating where the kids just left. </p><p>“Yes, they’re great,” Derek nods, wondering at the abrupt change in Stiles’ whole attitude. “They loved you. I’ve never seen them like that before.” He smiles. </p><p>Stiles smiles too, but not at Derek, more to himself. “Well, they were very sweet.”</p><p>“Do you like kids?” Derek asks.</p><p>“Sure,” Stiles says, and his eyes seem far away. “I’ve always known I would have kids.”</p><p>“Well, yeah, of course,” Derek says, “But do you enjoy them? Do you want to be a mother?”</p><p>Stiles pauses for a long moment. “Of course I want to be a mother,” He says, his eyes still distant. “It’s one of the only things that everyone wants for me that I also want.” </p><p>Derek feels warmth blooming in his chest at Stiles’ words. He smiles, “You’ll be… an incredible mom.” </p><p>“I don’t think I will be,” Stiles says this simply, as if he’s reciting facts. </p><p>“Why do you say that?” Derek asks. He wishes Stiles was still in his arms for this conversation. </p><p>“I didn’t have mom,” Stiles says. “I don’t think I’ll know how to do it.” The omega pauses, “If I have an omega, I know I won’t know how to do it.” </p><p>“Why an omega?” Derek asks. </p><p>“Because I’d have to live knowing my child was destined to be sold and bought for a plot of land, or an election, or a war victory, or a natural resource,” Stiles says, his voice low and drawn. “And I think to bring a child into the world knowing that is its purpose is unimaginably cruel.” </p><p>Derek frowns, “We won’t allow our children to be bought and paid for.” </p><p>“Derek,” Stiles looks up at him. “It’s already happened.” </p><p>“I didn’t buy a baby from you,” Derek sighs. “You were being unreasonable and I was trying to do the right thing for you.” </p><p>Stiles lets loose a bark of laughter, “By getting me to agree to give you my first born--” </p><p>“By finding a way for you to come home so you can rest, recover, and heal,” Derek says, catching the omega’s eyes. </p><p>“And you’re such a doctor you’ve decided I need rest, recovery, and healing?” Stiles’ eyes flash. </p><p>“Stiles, everyone who has internet access can tell that’s what you need, but I am your alpha, so yes-- I think I know how to take care of you better than anyone else.” Derek says calmly. “And I’m sorry that makes you mad, but it doesn’t make it any less true.” </p><p>“This is bullshit,” Stiles says, turning away. </p><p>“You’re hurt and you know it.” Derek’s voice stops him. “You said it yourself now, to the kids. You’ve been abandoned and alone trying to save the world and now you feel like I have you in a corner and that scares you. And you’re hurting me because you feel threatened. You don’t know if I’m going to hurt you and you’ve told yourself I will so that when I do at least you won’t have to also go through the pain of surprise.” He reaches out to touch Stiles forearm, “But I’m not going to hurt you.” </p><p>Stiles yanks his arm away. “You don’t even know you already have.” </p><p>Derek sighs, “Filing for mating and marriage rights was my only option and was not meant to hurt you.” </p><p>“Um, you also just could have fucked off, you ever think of that?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“And let you work yourself to death or be assassinated or kidnapped with how shitty Longfire’s security is?” Derek asks. “I don’t think so.” Derek sighs. He can smell the misery pouring off Stiles. “Baby, you need to go lie down. You didn’t sleep well last night. Come on,” He says, holding out his hand. “I’ll rub your back so it doesn’t bother you anymore.” </p><p>Stiles stares at him like Derek just suggested they hijack a spaceship. “I have a meeting with Tunisia in like, an hour. It’s set to go until after dinner. Don’t you have shit to do too? Who the fuck runs this country?” </p><p>“I canceled everything for the rest of the day. I’m trying not to work during your first few days here so you can get settled in,” Derek says. “Cancel the meeting. You’re in no shape to do whatever the hell you need to do with Tunisia.”  </p><p>“Yeah, Derek, I need to do it. I can’t just stop working because I’m moving. That’s what the word ‘need’ means,” Stiles says. “You're the only one of us who has work he can cancel.”</p><p>“No,” Derek says, “I’m the only one of us who has work he will cancel. This is what your Prime Minister is for.” </p><p>“My Prime Minister is there to look good in pictures.” Stiles says. </p><p>“You’ve got your jobs backwards,” Derek sighs. “If you don’t think he can handle a meeting by himself, you should get a new Prime Minister.” </p><p>“And if you can’t handle my work schedule, maybe you should get a new wife,” Stiles snaps. </p><p>“I know this has been an adjustment for you so I’m going to let your tone slide, but we will be discussing your health and your attitude when I see you tonight.” Derek says, sighing. </p><p>“Tonight?” Stiles asks. </p><p>“For bed?” Derek clarified. </p><p>“Bed?” Stiles looks a little pale. </p><p>“Yeah, like sleeping. The thing we’re fighting about because you don’t do it enough,” Derek sighs. “I’ll see you at nine-thirty at the latest.” </p><p>“Where?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“In the bedroom,” Derek says this like Stiles is a slow dog. “You know, where you woke up this morning.” </p><p>“That was your suite?” Stiles asks. “I thought that was my bedroom. It has all my shit in it.” </p><p>“That’s our bedroom,” Derek says, praying for patience. </p><p>“You expect us to live on top of each other?” Stiles stares at him. </p><p>“Only at night,” Derek smiles. “In Halebryne alphas don’t ever sleep away from their omegas unless forced to. It’s not good for them.” </p><p>“Oh good,” Stiles mutters. “That sounds like the perfect tradition to go with Longfire’s tradition of selling their omegas to war lords.” He looks down at his phone. “Shit. I’ve got to go. If this meeting is another Jackson prank I swear to Christ-”</p>
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<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Bribe</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Derek is pacing around their bedroom moving pillows, fluffing them, and moving them again. He reworks the thermostat about eight times. He yells at three of his generals in two different time zones while changing the bed’s sheets compulsively. His staff is appalled that he won’t let them even help. At around seven Derek’s phone rings and he looks down in surprise at the number. </p><p>“Hello?” Derek answers the phone. </p><p>“Yo Derek,” Jackson Martin’s voice unmistakable. “How’s it going?”</p><p>“How can I help you, Prince Jackson?” Derek asks. </p><p>“You should be asking how I can help you,” Jackson says. He’s chewing something-- likely those kale chips he’s always eating. </p><p>“And why should I be asking that?” Derek asks. </p><p>“Because I’m Stiles' best omega friend,” Jackson says. “I know shit about him.” </p><p>“What kind of shit?” Derek asks. </p><p>“The kind of shit that could like, fucking endear you to him,” Jackson says, still chewing. “Like, shit he likes and stuff.” </p><p>“And why would you want to give me this information?” Derek asks, blinking with surprise.</p><p>“I heard you got Lakers tickets for next week’s sold out game,” Jackson says. </p><p>“Yeah, I have season tickets,” Derek says, trying to digest this. “Are you trying to sell your best friend out for American basketball tickets?” </p><p>Jackson swallows something, likely the imported energy drinks he’s chronically drinking. “You got ‘em?” </p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>“Then yes-- that is 100% what I’m doing. And also for world peace or some bullshit Stiles was going on about, I don’t know--” Jackson says. “Look man, do you want to get laid or not?” </p><p>“Okay,” Derek says. “They’re yours.” </p><p>“Tight,” Jackson takes another sip. “What you’re going to do is, get him a border collie. He’s always wanted one.” </p><p>“Then why doesn’t he already have one?” Derek asks. </p><p>“He’s been a little busy the past few years-- some asshole tied him up in the courts with petitions, I don’t know, some shit about mating-- oh, that must have been you,” Jackson says, belching into the phone. “Anyways, get him the dog. He only has horses right now and omegas fucking love dogs.”</p><p>“You are singular, Prince Jackson,” Derek notes. </p><p>“Not now, Lydia, I’m bribing Derek for Lakers tickets!” Jackson yells. There’s a pause and then, “Lydia says, hi.”</p><p>“Give my regards to your alpha,” Derek sighs. “Is that all? Get him a dog?”</p><p>“Yes,” Jackson says. “Wait, no-- I know Stiles seems really smart, but that’s only in like, head things. He usually doesn’t actually like, have a great understanding of the shit he needs or wants. He’s actually kind of a total bummer. Sometimes the things that would seem normal to you or me seem weird to Stiles. And then he like, freaks out. I mean, just turns into this raging bitch, and I’m over here like, ‘Dude-- just go get knotted. The world’s not going to fucking end just because you allow yourself to like, feel something.’” Jackson swallows, “Sometimes you have to explain yourself to him about stuff.” </p><p>“I have to ‘explain myself to him about stuff?’” Derek asks. They’re doomed.</p><p>“Yeah,” Jackson is back to chewing. “Everyone says he’s really smart, but I think he was probably dropped on his head as a fucking infant or something, because-- you know that thing inside of you that tells you it’s okay just to like, live or go to sleep or fucking delegate? Well, I think that’s broken in him. Because sometimes he will just not settle. It’s like if he closes his eyes for eight hours a night he thinks the world is going to burn down. I don’t know what he’s so worried about. His entire family is already dead. What else can happen?”</p><p>“I’m still alive, Jackson,” Derek says. “The Hales are his family now.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Jackson snorts. “Good luck with that. May the odds ever be in your favor.” </p><p>“Does he ever follow Lydia’s orders?” Derek asks. </p><p>“Pffft,” Jackson snorts. “Sort of? I don’t know. At first I kind of thought she was acting as his primary alpha and then I got to know them better and I was like, ‘Oh, no, this bitch has no alpha,’ but I think he does it to placate her sometimes. But he doesn’t take it seriously and neither does she.” </p><p>“Have you ever seen him yield to another alpha?” Derek asks. “There have been rumors of boyfriends--” </p><p>“Stiles?” Jackson snorts again. “I think he might be dating the New York Times crossword puzzle and things are getting serious. Nah, Stiles doesn’t yield. It’s why he’s all fucked up and nervous as shit. Every time we hang out I have to shower just to get the stench of repressed, touch-starved moron off of my skin.” Jackson rolls his eyes. “And he kicks in his sleep.”</p><p>So that’s why Jackson had smelt appealing when Derek had last seen him. “You’ve been sleeping next to Stiles?” Derek asks. </p><p>“Dude, if you’re going to hang out with Stiles, you’re going to want him to be asleep.” Jackson says. “That’s literally the only time he stops yelling at me to save the whales. And I’m the only one he’ll let sleep next to him.” Jackson says. “And he shouldn’t be alone all the time. It makes him even more of an asshole and I already don’t like him.” A scuffle in the background and then, “Look I got to go, Fuckface, but take it easy on him, okay? He’s not trying to be a dick. He’s just hostile to…anything he can’t control.”</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The hell of being asked how your day went</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles would be forever grateful to the dour Tunisian ambassador who fell prey to his goading, graciously allowing Stiles to get into an intense screaming debate in several languages for well over an hour past when the meeting was scheduled to stop. He must remind himself to tell Avis to send the man a fruit basket. It’s nearly 9:20 and Derek had ordered Stiles to be back in their quarters at 9:30. For the first time since his father has passed, Stiles has a curfew. Even when his father had been alive, his curfew had never been enforced. Stiles briefly considers not showing up. He leans against a terrace wall in the darkness and allows himself to indulgently imagine hopping the wall, sneaking into the back of one of the delivery vans who are forever pulling in and out of the compound and never coming back. It’s a nice thought. </p><p>He carefully weighs the value of walking in at 9:45, just to show Derek he can, just to demonstrate to the alpha there is no world in which Stiles is afraid of anything Derek could do to him. He’s been dreading even the thought of the first time Derek will inevitably have to reprimand him formally for something. Anytime he thinks about it, something like electric ice flys through his core. Stiles weighs the value of being in control of his first infraction. Weighs the value of purposely being late and having them get this awful first out of the way. </p><p>There could be a benefit to that. At least the anticipation wouldn’t be killing him anymore. But the thing is-- Stiles is so tired. He’s had a frantic last two days, securing a deal with Derek, informing parliament, frantically packing up from Consair and giving word back home to his household they were moving to Brightbryne Castle. He just feels numb. He wants to go home and sleep in his own bed, maybe pull Jackson in from whatever gutter he’s currently loitering in, curl up next to Jackson’s benign, non-threatening warmth and go to sleep. He likes to rest against Jackson’s side, curled around him on Stiles’ enormous bed at home and sleep while Jackson plays video games and swears at his opponents through a headset and complains about Stiles kicking him and smelling too sweet. It’s the only times lately, over the past two years Stiles has been able to sleep well. Omegas need physical social interaction regularly to keep balanced. They need touch the way they need natural light and nourishing food. Stiles likes to casually ignore this fact. He has never liked anyone much to touch him, hadn’t allowed it unless it was Lydia or Jackson. Out of respect, Lydia rarely touches Stiles, only doing it on the rare occasions when she’s run out of words. Jackson is always in Stiles’ space because he’s… awful, but it wouldn’t be the same if he were sharing space with Jackson and the other omega wasn’t being a human nightmare. </p><p>Derek gets in Stiles’ space the same way Jackson does, like he belongs there, like Stiles’ space is shared space. His hands are larger and stronger than Jackson’s and his scent is darker and more potent. When he touches Stiles, Stiles doesn’t know what to do with his body. It’s like he loses control of his muscles and all he wants at that moment is some kind of help. When he had stepped behind Stiles this morning and put both his arms around him, Stiles had felt his breath stop for a long, scary moment. Then Derek had brushed his ear with his voice and Stiles had wanted Derek to tell him what to do in this moment. It was a sensation Stiles had never felt before, like he couldn’t breathe. He had retreated back into the facade he was putting on for the kids. He pretended he was somebody else, somebody who had chosen Derek for different reasons than Stiles had, somebody who understood Derek and would be good for him, somebody his friends and family would have been happy Derek had chosen. </p><p>Tonight is not the night to pick a fight. Stiles is too tired to win and he can’t afford to lose.</p><p>At 9:27 Stiles walks to the door of their suit and one of the guards opens the door for him. He doesn’t know what to expect but what he gets is a casual scene-- well, casual for a palace. The bed is neatly rolled down and the only light is coming from two low table lamps on the nightstands and the light from the open bathroom door. The curtains are drawn and the room looks peaceful, quiet. Derek’s bed chamber is modern in lush shades of charcoal. Luxurious bamboo and cashmere blankets and sheets are piled on the bed, fresh and clean from the laundry house. It’s freezing here at night and Stiles is already cold. The omega looks longingly at the blankets. </p><p>The sound of the shower turns off and Derek sticks his head out of the bathroom, wearing only a towel around his waist. Steam has drifted out the open door and the whole room is heavy with Derek’s delicious scent. Some ridiculous part of Stiles wants to roll around in it, find its source and just press his face to it, but he cuts that thought off at the knees quickly. </p><p>“Hey Stiles,” Derek greets him like they’re college roommates and Stiles just got back from the store. “Do you need to shower? I’ll be out of here in a minute.” </p><p>Yes, a shower will probably clear his head. Although, Stiles doesn’t know if he actually wants to be lucid or thinking straight. That seems to be asking kind of a lot right now. </p><p>A minute later, Derek emerges from the bathroom, smelling like food to a ravenous person, wearing loose black pants and a loose-fitting linen tank top. He smiles at Stiles like they’ve done this a thousand times, like this is their nightly routine. </p><p>“Shower’s all yours,” The alpha says, sitting down on the bed. “I think Mrs. Avis laid out your pajamas in the bathroom.” Derek stretches one arm out. “How was your day?” </p><p>And the horror begins, Stiles thinks. </p><p>“Productive,” Stiles says, barely eyeing the alpha. He stalks over to the bathroom door and is blown over with Derek’s scent, infused in the vapor and steam from the shower. It hits him like a physical force and for a minute there all Stiles can do is stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame. </p><p>“Are you okay, Stiles?” Derek calls. </p><p>“Yeah…” Stiles says. He musters up the courage to walk into the bathroom. This is good. This is progress. This is working. He just needs to quickly shower, brush his teeth, and then slip in on the far side of the bed, away from the alpha that smells like he should be illegal. The bed is so big, it hardly counts as sleeping in the same county, let alone bed. This is fine. Derek can’t try to fuck him anyways and other than TMZ, who’d want to? If Stiles hadn’t been born powerful, he knows alphas wouldn’t be lining up for him. He’s too skinny and too mouthy. </p><p>Stiles gets into the large shower and he thinks he maybe moans a little bit at the smell. His vision is blurring and he feels a tight ache starting to build in his core. He holds it together long to slather shampoo into his hair and scrub the rest of himself thoroughly. He thinks he might have taken off some skin, he’s scrubbing so hard. He leans his forehead against the shower wall and just rests there for a moment, closing his eyes. He tried to imagine what Derek is doing out there, what he’s thinking. He can tell by the shower steam, their scents are starting to commingle, and create something new. He breathes it in for a long moment. It’s like the silken notes of a violin infused with dark chocolate and iron. </p><p>Numb, Stiles gets out of the shower and dries himself off with a bath sheet. Then he mechanically brushes his teeth, while throwing on some linen shorts and a jersey tank as quickly as he can. He’s freezing. A lot of omegas sleep naked, preferring to not be restricted by anything, but Stiles has never liked this. It felt too unsafe, too vulnerable even when sleeping alone. </p><p>When he finally shuts off the bathroom light and pads out into the bedroom, the lights are off and Derek is laying in bed on his back in the darkness like a sleeping giant. Stiles walks around all the way to the other side of the enormous bed and climbs under the covers. Omega’s body temperatures drop drastically at night and he’s so cold. The linens feel like heaven and smell like the ones he has at home. However, that smell is overwhelmed by Derek’s own scent deepening. </p><p>“Did you get dinner?” The alpha asks, conversationally. </p><p>“Yeah,” Stiles says after a pause. </p><p>“More than curly fries?” Stiles can hear Derek smiling, “Avis says sometimes you’ll only eat curly fries for dinner.” </p><p>“Well, I’m not dead yet, am I? I don’t argue with success.” Stiles snorts. He rolls over uncomfortably. For some stupid reason this scent is causing his skin to crawl. He feels the muscles in his neck tightening painfully. He rolls to his other side, frustrated. </p><p>“Did you get what you wanted out of Tunisia?” Derek asks. His voice is casual but his scent has shifted with Stiles unrest and he knows the alpha is there in the darkness observing him. </p><p>“Mostly,” Stiles says, still sulking a little. </p><p>“Is there some way I can help?” Derek asks mildly.</p><p>“What are you going to do?” Stiles asks, snorting. “Call them up and tell them to play nice.” </p><p>“I have a lot of men with guns at my disposal,” Derek says, and he sounds like he’s smiling. </p><p>“Change can’t always happen at the barrel of a gun, Derek,” Stiles sighs, he flexes his hands at his neck, itchy and hating the way his muscles are cramping. “The most lasting changes happen in boardrooms and kitchen tables and bedrooms.” </p><p>“Is that why we’re here?” Derek asks.</p><p>Stiles sighs. He rolls over again, this time pressing the balls of his hands as hard as he can into the base of his neck, into the knots forming in the meat of his shoulders. </p><p>“Wow, you really can’t settle, huh?” This time the alpha’s voice and scent is closer. Derek has crawled across the bed and is leaning over him in the darkness. Stiles is so aware of his body, of his presence, of his heat. “Jackson said sometimes you can’t settle.” </p><p>“When did you talk to that asshole?” Stiles asks, pulling on his head to desperately stretch out his neck. </p><p>“He called me this evening to bribe me for basketball tickets,” Derek says. </p><p>“Of course he did,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “What did he give you for them?” </p><p>“Information about you,” Derek says mildly. </p><p>“Of course that’s what you wanted,” Stiles sighs. He twists his head and pounds one fist into the tight meat of his shoulder.</p><p>Derek’s massive hand closes over his wrist, “Stop that, you’re going to hurt yourself.” The alpha leans closer to his neck. “What’s wrong?” </p><p>“Nothing,” Stiles mutters. “I just… the muscles in my neck and back keep seizing up. Maybe I should go sleep in the living room. I’m probably going to keep you up all night.” </p><p>“Has this happened before?” Derek asks. </p><p>“...only a few times,” Stiles mutters. </p><p>“Hmm…” Derek’s large warm hand runs down Stiles’ neck and over his shoulder, under his tank top. Then he firmly digs into a knot at the base of Stiles’ skull and Stiles just keens. “Did I hurt you?” Derek asks. </p><p>“No,” Stiles says, and he thinks he’s clutching the sheets. “I mean, not in a bad way. It’s just… I hate when this happens so much.”</p><p>“You’re too stressed out,” Derek says, digging into Stiles’ neck with both hands now. “You need to take it easy. You can’t do everything you need to do if your body is telling you to go slower.” </p><p>Derek’s hands are so warm and so solid and are doing amazing things to Stiles’ neck. He feels his whole body going limp under the alpha’s strength. Derek hits on another knot under his shoulder and Stiles lets out a moan that is likely obscene. </p><p>“It’s okay,” Derek murmurs into his ear. “That’s a bad one, I can feel it. I’ll get it out.” </p><p>He wants to tell Derek to stop. He wants to be as far away from the alpha as possible in this laughably large bed. Alphas are pushy and brutish and a waste of time and above all no alpha is going to get one over on Stiles. But Derek’s hands know just where to touch, just how much pressure Stiles’ aching neck and back need and Stiles can’t bring himself to do anything other than lay there and try to breathe. </p><p>And it goes on like that for long minutes with Derek rubbing into his neck, slowly kneading the tension away. It hurts, but in a good way, and Stiles tries not to think about the alpha above him, tries to separate Derek from his hands. After Stiles’ muscles have been properly loosened and Stiles’ breaths have evened out to a deep in and out, Derek leans down and kisses him at the base of his neck. The alpha lingers there for a minute, as if smelling their combined scent. Stiles is impossibly sleepy, oddly relaxed in a way he’s never been. Part of him is awake enough to marvel at the fact that his overactive brain appears to finally want to sleep. </p><p>Derek runs one hand through Stiles’ hair and then again and again, petting his head in a soothing rhythm. Then his fingers trail over Stiles’ forearms and shoulders, down the curve of his spine. A thumb brushes over an ear. </p><p>“Are you cold?” Derek asks.</p><p>Stiles shakes his head, his eyes closed. </p><p>“Okay, go to sleep for me, Regia,” Derek says, resuming stroking his hair. </p><p>For one moment, Derek’s hand goes away and Stiles opens his eyes. </p><p>“Go to sleep, Stiles,” Derek says above him, and his hand slips back into Stiles’ hair. “I’m here.</p>
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<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Blind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He should talk to him. They need to talk. About them. About what this is. About what this could be. About what Derek wants to give Stiles. Which is everything. He should talk about boundaries. Expectations. He should look this beautiful, perfect omega in the eyes and go over all the ways Derek as his alpha can make him feel safe. Make him happy. </p><p>But the truth is this is hard. This is harder than Derek ever imagined it would be. As of a few days ago he’d been so in love, had longed for Stiles so much, no part of his stupid love-struck brain could imagine the omega couldn’t feel some of that, could need him just a little bit too. But fate is cruel and ironic. As it would turn out Stiles does need Derek, needs him more desperately than Derek could have imagined, it’s just the omega doesn’t seem to know this, or care. Or be remotely open to acknowledging this possibility. And Stiles is already so stressed and angry. Trying to talk to him about their relationship would only cause him more anxiety and Derek doesn’t want to fight with him, can’t stand when the omega’s anger is directed towards him. He shouldn’t be contributing to Stiles’ stress. Their talk will have to wait. He’ll keep things light. He’ll go slow. Deep inside, Derek knows Stiles craves structure and security from him, but he also knows pushing that conversation right now is only going to end in Stiles becoming furious with him. And he hates that, can’t stand the way the omega looks at him sometimes. </p><p>Derek lies awake in the darkness, his larger body turned on its side, curled towards Stiles, who is sleeping on his back, his head turned away from Derek. Alphas can see better in the dark, and Derek is slowly and rhythmically stroking the sleeping omega’s hair, occasionally running his broad thumb over Stiles’ ear, down the soft lobe, trailing across his graceful neck. Their second night together-- the first night Stiles isn’t completely inebriated-- and the omega is sleeping deeply, lulled and comforted by Derek’s scent, by his touch. Stiles let Derek gentle him, let himself be settled. Things are hard, but this is not. This is perfect. Well, not quite perfect. Perfect would be Stiles pressed against him, sleeping on his chest, tucked under Derek’s jaw, with the alpha’s arms around his perfect body in a way that would make it impossible for Stiles to stir or fret or leave without waking Derek. He knows it’s alpha paranoia, but he’s afraid to sleep, afraid if he closes his eyes, Church, or the parliament, or somebody else will come and take Stiles away during the night. That Derek will wake up and all that will be left is Stiles’ scent. He knows if he has to he can go a week without sleeping if it means protecting his omega. </p><p>He wants to gather Stiles in his arms, take off those ridiculous pajamas (really, what kind of omega sleeps in clothes?) and press Stiles' skin to his own. He knows this is the way to get his scent to stay on Stiles the longest, but he also knows this isn’t something Stiles would be okay with at the moment. Reluctantly, Derek withdraws his hand from Stiles’ hair. He needs to keep his distance. As hard as it is, that’s probably for the best. </p><p>A moment after Derek removes his hand, the omega stirs, rolling first to one side and then to the other. Through the darkness, Derek can see Stiles’ eyes flutter open and can tell the omega, with his less sophisticated eyesight, can’t see. Stiles lifts his head up slightly from the pillow and groggily blinks, sniffing the air. Derek remains motionless, silent, expecting the omega to roll over and go back to sleep. Instead a low, sour, distress scent bleeds out from the omega. Stiles quietly gathers the blankets up in his arms, trying to burrow deeper into them. He can see the omega’s open eyes staring blankly up and a ceiling he can’t see, still scenting the air. Derek wonders what scent Stiles is searching for. Stiles lays like that for a minute and then two, his eyes still open. Then the omega, carefully silent, rolls to his side towards Derek, his pert nose sniffing. Then, the omega blindly reaches out towards Derek’s silent, stationary form in the darkness. </p><p>At last his small hand brushes Derek’s bare shoulder in the dark with the lightest, most tentative touch. The omega’s skin is freezing. Stiles withdraws his hand quickly as if burned, but before he can fully pull away, Derek reaches out with his fast alpha reflexes and grasps the omega’s icy hand, enveloping it in his warm one. In the darkness Derek watches Stiles freeze, the omega’s face unreadable. Derek lowers their touching hands to the mattress and runs his warm, calloused fingers up the omega’s frigid forearm and then back down again. Stiles lays there on his side, his body turned towards Derek, motionless and unseeing, his doe eyes open in the dark. The air smells like them. </p><p>Go back to sleep, Derek thinks. You need rest. I can smell how tired you are, how tired you always are. It’s okay, I’ll keep watch. </p><p>In the darkness Stiles frowns and rolls on his back, withdrawing his arm. He stares at the ceiling again. Then the omega rolls over, gets out of bed, and walks into the adjoining sitting room. Derek lays on his back in the darkness for a minute and then two. The smell of distress and misery and exhaustion wafts in through the air filters from the sitting room. Derek watches the ceiling for another minute that feels like an eternity. At last Derek rolls over, gets out of bed and, silently as any jungle cat, walks over to the door. He can see Stiles through the total blackness, sitting, perched on a velvet settee, staring into the darkness, wrapped in an afghan. Derek walks over and although the omega likely can barely hear him moving across the room, he can tell Stiles can smell him. He reaches the omega’s small hunched form, leans over and scoops Stiles’ slim, shivering frame up in his arms. The omega tenses at first, but only for a second, and then his small body relaxes into Derek’s chest, and Stiles presses his frozen cheek against Derek’s sternum.</p><p>Derek settles them into bed, and pulls the blankets around him, Stiles nestled against his broad chest. The alpha rubs slow circles on the omega’s icy back, trying to warm him. The omega burrows into Derek’s chest and Derek thinks this is heaven. This is perfect. It’s only after he feels wetness against his clavicle that he realizes the omega is crying. Derek kisses Stiles’ forehead and strokes his hair until Stiles’ breathing even outs and the omega is asleep. Derek knows this probably isn't right. He should probably keep his distance, let Stiles sort this out on his own and come to him on his own. If this keeps happening, if Derek keeps giving in to what his primitive alpha instincts are telling him is the only option, the omega will resent him even more.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. New and a Bit Alarming</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Stiles opens his eyes, and a breeze floats over his face, sunlight shining in from the open window. He sits up, cocooned in a nest of heavenly blankets, blinking and confused. He immediately registers his unfamiliar surroundings and a solid jolt of panic shoots through his body as if he’s been shocked. He can smell his alpha but he can’t see him. Some primal part of Stiles vaguely remembers falling asleep curled next to safety, and now he’s alone, his alpha has left him and he doesn’t know where he is--</p><p>Then memories of the last few days come flooding in all at once. Stiles briefly covers his eyes and prays his memories of breaking down in Derek’s arms last night are a bad dream. He’d remembered falling asleep after he’d shamefully allowed the alpha to settle him like a textbook omega-- the kind he’d always made fun of, the kind who needed constant validation and attention for their alpha, who weren’t strong enough to tough it out on their own. Last night he’d been awoken by some innate sense of sudden anxiety. He could no longer sense Derek’s presence next to him. Stiles had opened his eyes in the strange, dark room-- freezing and alone. He could smell Derek but he couldn’t see him or feel him and he didn’t know why he felt the need to look for him so vehemently. All he knew was in that moment he was tired and disoriented, in a strange principality, and he was afraid of being alone in a cavernous space. To add to his confusion, he could smell the alpha nearby and yet so far away at the same time. Maybe Derek had left him in the night and all he was smelling was his sheets. Maybe Stiles was alone, here without his own guards, and own familiar escape routes.</p><p>Fear and panic had rushed through him like icy water, speeding his heart, and he had reached out blindly in the darkness to find Derek about a foot away from him, warm and solid and likely asleep. Not wanting the alpha to know he’d been looking for him, Stiles had quickly withdrawn his hand. But Derek had either been awake or had been woken up by Stiles’ brief touch and the alpha had captured Stiles’ hand, no doubt wondering why Stiles was trying to bother him in the night when they both had things to do the next morning. The alpha had pulled Stiles’ hand back to the mattress and patted him as if to silently tell Stiles to stop disturbing him and go back to sleep. But Stiles was still afraid and cold and needing something he couldn’t define. There was a growing, gnawing ache taking root in the pit of his gut and it was rapidly worsening and the longer Stiles had lain there, needing and not having and fearing the more he felt as though he would be sick. Finally, unable to stand laying there in that bed, freezing cold and alone, Stiles had gotten up and moved into the sitting room, hoping one of the enormous afghans on the sofa would keep him warm. It hadn’t. He had sat there, shivering, for a few moments before he noticed Derek’s scent was deepening again. It smelled more pungent, alert. The smell got closer and closer until the alpha’s impossibly strong arms had lifted Stiles effortlessly and bundled him in close to the alpha’s incredible heat. And Stiles is a weak-willed, hypocritical, pathetic excuse for an omega and a leader because he’d let it happen. He’d melted against Derek’s solid body and forced the alpha to deal with Stiles’ weak inability to control his emotions. And in that moment Stiles hadn’t cared. He’d gorged himself on Derek’s scent and warmth-- and who knew how much credibility he had lost with the Hale heir-- not to mention what the rest of Middlegreen would think of Stiles if word got out he was already forcing his probationary alpha to dry his tears and placate him just so Derek could get some sleep.</p><p>He hates himself. He hates this. This is what he’d been afraid of-- that deep down inside he was weak. He wasn’t fit to rule after his strong father.</p><p>Stiles looks up from his misery and another jolt of alarm courses through him. The sunshine. What time is it? He jumps up quickly, and scrambles around desperately for his phone. Where the hell had that thing ended up while he was acting like the worst kind of omega housewife last night. And Jesus-- that had only taken two days before Stiles had started behaving like a common needy stereotype.</p><p>He finally finds his phone on a lighted blue charger on one of the nightstands. He taps the screen to life.</p><p>“11:30?!” Stiles actually yells this. “Why the FUCK didn’t my alarm go off?!”</p><p>“Because I turned it off,” Derek walks into the room, already dressed for the day in dark denim and a soft black tunic. He has a strand of black diamonds around his neck and is carrying a tray of tea and peeled cara cara oranges-- Stiles favorite fruit. “You needed rest.”</p><p>Stiles is so outraged, he almost forgets to be embarrassed at the sight of Derek after his unacceptable display of wanton omega weakness last night-- almost. Jesus, of all the countless omegas who have doubtlessly thrown themselves at the prince, he has got to be the most disgusting. He knows he’s blushing furiously and there’s nothing he can do about that.</p><p>Stiles crosses his arms across his chest, feeling exposed in a loose tank top-- he really needs to have Wardrobe make him some sleeping turtlenecks.</p><p>“I had a meeting at seven this morning,” Stiles glares at the floor, unable to meet the alpha’s eyes.</p><p>“I know,” Derek says, setting the tray down and sitting on the edge of the bed. “Your Prime Minister’s staff will reschedule. Mrs. Avis has been informed your week must be cleared so you can recover from the move and adjust to our new normal.”</p><p>This time Stiles can’t help but stare at the alpha. “Excuse me?!” Stiles climbs out of bed, white with rage. He can feel himself shaking. “What my Prime Minister and what my staff does is none of your fucking business!”</p><p>Derek doesn’t look upset or surprised by Stiles’ display of temper, he simply calmly pours Stiles a cup of what smells like his favorite blend of morning tea and offers it to him.</p><p>“Stiles, we both know that’s not what <em>plus temporis</em> custody is,” Derek says calmly. “I know you’re not used to anyone having a say in your schedule but you, but <em>plus temporis</em>--”</p><p>“Is temporary custody!” Stiles seethes.</p><p>“Temporary custody which is designed as a formality before the eventual mating,” Derek says, his voice steady. “I’m still your primary alpha. I can alter your schedule, your political involvement, or anything else that affects your well-being and I know you know this and you know I know you know this because it’s been in the court documents for 18 months and there’s no way you haven’t read those word for word, so please calm down and eat something nutritious for once.” Derek smiles, “I promise you can continue to ruin the Tunisian ambassador’s life next week, okay?”</p><p>He doesn’t respect me, Stiles thinks, glaring at the floor, so angry he can barely breathe. This is what happens when you show weakness to them. They no longer see you as people. You’re just a pet-- or worse, an object. The lowest part of this whole thing, the part that really stings, is that Stiles has brought this on himself. He did this to himself. Two years of work down the tubes for one night of comfort.</p><p>Fuming, Stiles closes his eyes and listens to his instincts, fighting the inclination to throw everything within arm’s reach. He needs to wait for his own sense of cunning to speak, and not just give in to anger, fear, and self-hatred.</p><p>“Mrs. Avis,” He calls, his voice tense and clipped.</p><p>“Yes, Your Grace,” Avis appears at the door of the bathroom.</p><p>“Tell Prime Minister Lambert that I will call him this afternoon to discuss rescheduling today’s proceedings for later this week,” Stiles glares at Derek.</p><p>“When would you like to reschedule them, Your Grace,” Mrs. Avis asks, taking notes in her phone.</p><p>Stiles forces himself to smile and walks over to Derek, still half-choked over his embarrassment about last night. However, he sets his face with an expression of practiced serenity and tips his neck back just so. Derek watches him intently, never taking his eyes off of Stiles, the alpha’s face stony and unreadable.</p><p>“Whenever it would please His Majesty,” Stiles says, his voice tight, emotionless. “It’s Wednesday today.” Stile swallows. “May I resume my usual duties on Friday, Alpha?” Stiles feels humiliation wash over him.</p><p>Derek just stares at him for a long moment and Stiles’ face burns, certain the alpha is remembering him crying last night and God knows what Derek is thinking.</p><p>“I don’t want to overstimulate you,” Derek says. “I’m not trying to interfere or take over what you do. You’re the best at what you do-- everyone knows that. But you are running yourself ragged. And I wouldn’t be doing what I’m supposed to be doing if I let you keep doing it.”</p><p>Stiles just looks at Derek with dead eyes, “Friday, Alpha-- is it okay?”</p><p>Derek looks at him, and stands up, and reaches down to touch Stiles’ cheek, like he’s a child.</p><p>“Don’t look at me that way,” Derek says softly. “I’m sorry-- I know you hate when things aren’t just so, but I just couldn’t wake you this morning. You smelled so tired.” He looks at Avis, “Tell Prime Minister Lambert to expect Prince Stiles’ call about Friday this afternoon.” Derek leans down, and runs a thumb across Stiles’ cheek. “You know I can’t say no to you. Do you promise me to try to rest today and tomorrow?” Stiles nods, unable to speak. “Mmm,” Derek smiles, “That’s my good boy.”</p><p>“I made you some tea,” Derek says, stepping away from Stiles to fetch the teacup from the tray. “Avis will run your bath and dress you for the day.”</p><p>“Where am I going?” Stiles asks, numbly sipping the tea.</p><p>“A group of artisans and merchants have come in with the newest selections of goods,” Avis says walking into the room again. “Prince Hale wants you fitted for clothes and shoes for the social season. You’ll also need gloves and jewels.”</p><p>“Forgive me,” Stiles mutters crankily into his tea, “But aren’t I already a prince? Don’t I already have that?”</p><p>“Prince Hale wants you fitted for clothing and accessories that also reflect Hale colors, insignia, and traditions as well as Longfire,” Mrs. Avis states. “It’s customary when a bride joins a Royal House.”</p><p>“I’m not a bride,” Stiles growls.</p><p>“That reminds me, I want you to select fabric for your wedding tunic,” Derek says, handing Stiles an orange slice. “And anything else you’d like of course. I’ve ordered the jewelers to create some pieces for you. Hale jewelry is generally black diamonds and rubies. They’re bringing some mock-up designs for you to try on based off of what my sisters’ omegas wear. Of course if you see something else you like we can get is customized.”</p><p>“Wedding tunic?” Stiles asks. “Whose wedding?”</p><p>“Yours, dipshit,” Jackson walks in wearing a pink Louis Vuitton tracksuit and a shit-eating grin. “Get in the car, loser. We’re going shopping.”</p><p>“Did Derek let you in here to punish me or did you break in?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“I flew in this morning,” Jackson says, bouncing on the bed next to Stiles, grabbing the other omega’s teacup and downing what’s left. “Derek said the merchants came in today. Thought you might want some company.”</p><p>“He clearly doesn’t know me very well,” Stiles notes drying, taking back his teacup. He looks at Derek. “We’ll go down and look… I guess. What else am I going to do with this idiot? But I really don’t need anymore shit.”</p><p>“I know,” Derek says, standing up and leaning down to run a hand through Stiles’ hair. “But please indulge me. I want you to feel and look at home here.”</p><p>“Fine.” Stiles mutters. “But when Jackson sets something on fire, remember you brought this on your own House.”</p>
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<a name="section0016"><h2>16. The Market</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You know why he’s doing this don’t you?” Jackson is rummaging through Stiles’ huge walk in closet and yelling at Stiles who is in the other room. </p><p>Stiles, fresh from the bath, is sitting on the bed, wrapped in a bath sheet. Mrs. Avis, the rest of the staff and Derek have left the two omegas alone with a huge breakfast-themed grazing platter. Jackson had said grazing platters were the way Halebyne usually ate their meals. Stiles wasn’t hungry. He was sipping tea and sulking. </p><p>“He doesn’t care about my feelings and it’s nothing to him to ruin my life because he thinks of me as an accessory and not a person,” Stiles says dully, grimacing into his tea.</p><p>“Jesus, you are morose,” Jackson emerges from Stiles’ closet and throws a light, loose knit cream Versace sweater, linen chinos, and a pair of Italian leather sandals at Stiles. In his other hand he flings a pair of clean underwear at Stiles head before turning around to rummage through a trunk. “He’s doing this because Churchaste is the wealthiest principality in Middlegreen. The social season is opening this week and when you show up at events Hale wants you decked out in as many Hale jewels as they can fit on your scrawny ass. He has all of Lydia’s jewelers working overtime right now. He wants to show Church and the members of parliament he can afford to keep you in the same amount of luxury.” </p><p>“So, I’m right--” Stiles says, dressing. “This isn’t about me.” </p><p>“Well,” Jackson says, picking up a heavy card box. “It’s about keeping you. He doesn’t want anybody to be able to find the slightest reason you shouldn’t be remanded to his custody forever. Why do you think we’re going into town instead of having the merchants come to the palace?” </p><p>Stiles puts on the sweater. “He doesn’t care about my feelings--” </p><p>“They want us to get papped.” Jackson says. “They want the press to show the world that Derek has had you three days and already you’re out in your new kingdom, with your sexy best friend, drinking Hale’s champagne, and spending Hale’s money-- acting like a carefree, rich, young omega for the first time in your constipated life.” </p><p>“Sexy best friend?” Stiles smirks, throwing a pillow at Jackson. “I don’t even like you.” </p><p>“Yeah, well you’re not a party yourself, Egghead,” Jackson snorts. “But I got to hand it to Hale or Laura or whoever thought this up-- nothing says, ‘I’m having a sexy party time,’ like being papped with Jackson Martin.” He grins at Stiles. </p><p>“I might actually hate you,” Stiles snorts. “Next time you decide to come please warn me ahead of time so I can have the vet put me on horse tranquilizers. And probably you too, now that I think about it.” </p><p>“Goddamn, what is this?” Jackson opens the box. “Holy shit, dude. This is an Hermes Himalaya Omega edition bag. These are impossible to get.” </p><p>“The fuck is that?” Stiles rolls his eyes. </p><p>“Avis handed it to me and told me to build an outfit around it. She said it was a gift to you from Cora Hale, delivered this morning for you to wear out today.” Jackson looks awe-struck. “I don’t even think Lydia could get her hands on one of these.” </p><p>“So it’s a purse?” Stiles snorts. </p><p>“This is a purse that could house and feed like six families comfortably for two years,” Jackson says. </p><p>“I hate it even more,” Stiles says. “This is unnecessary. The clothes, the gifts, the going out, the pictures, you-- especially you-- and being an omega is all unnecessary.” He sighs. “Sometimes I wish… I just wish I was like a normal beta college student and Derek was some kind of normal beta civilian and we had met in some normal--” Stiles stops himself, knowing he sounds totally insane. He doesn’t even know what he’s trying to say. “Nevermind. I wish he had never laid eyes on me. I wish nobody had.” </p><p>Jackson gives him a knowing look. The other omega picks up the bag, and a pair of sunglasses, and walks over to Stiles, sitting next to the omega on the bed. </p><p>“Being miserable isn’t a virtue. It doesn’t make you a better person and it doesn’t lessen any of the suffering of the millions of people you care so much about. All it does is hurt the people who care about you.” Jackson smiles. “Of which I am not one. So put on the goddamn bag, send your sister-in-law a thank you note and take it like a man.” Jackson takes one of the two pave chains of pink diamonds from his neck and puts in around Stiles’, giving the omega a severe look. </p><p>#</p><p>The two of them are being carried on a litter down into town, surrounded by Martin security. This is Stiles’ least favorite way to travel and Jackson’s favorite. They’re laying back on lush pillows of cream and dusty rose linen, wearing sunglasses, their diamonds sparkling in the sunshine, eating ice cream cones. This is what Jackson considers a balanced brunch, apparently. Just as Jackson predicted, the moment they set foot into town, the paparazzi swarm all around the litter, trying to get a good shot. Jackson has the litter stop for a few minutes, and wraps an obnoxious arm around Stiles. For five minutes Jackson poses with Stiles, mugging for the camera, kissing him on the cheek, and waving at the curious and excited citizens. </p><p>After a few minutes Jackson, waves at one of his security guys and the head of security calls to the press, “Okay, guys-- you got your shot, now please respect the princes’ privacy and let us through. We got to go.” </p><p>They have sectioned off the street where the merchants and artisans have set up their shops, all selling the latest luxury goods and products, shipped in from all around the world. The public isn’t allowed in at the same time as the princes. Jackson informs his security to stay at least ten feet away from him and Stiles, so they can have privacy. The merchants happily show off their latest wares-- antique silks and lace from France, Italian leather shoes, belts, and omega bags, sunglasses and custom diamond timepieces from America, teas from London, nougat and spices from Thailand, chocolate from Mexico, grapes from Japan. The two princes walk through the merchants’ tents and stores, Jackson ordering things to be sent back to Martinsdale.</p><p>Jackson leans over to Stiles conspiratorially, “You know why I really came?” </p><p>Stiles smiles fondly at Jackson, “Because you are every kind of slut including a media slut?” </p><p>“Well, yes,” Jackson says, “But one of the Martinsdale artisans is here and I got something for us.” He stops in front of an enclosed canvas tent and says to his security, “Don’t follow us.” </p><p>The two princes duck into the tent and are greeted with the rich smells of exotic spices. The tent is overflowing with lush, theatrical feathers, silks, and brocaids. Beautiful costume jewels and embroidered dance shoes sparkle from every corner. </p><p>A tall, fit omega with dreadlocks wearing all black is sitting at a table in the next to a sewing machine. Upon sight of the princes, he jumps up and bows low before them greeting them. </p><p>“Prince Jackson!” He says, and Jackson slaps him on the back in familiarity. “And Prince Stiles-- hail to your beauty, Prince of Longfire.” </p><p>“Mercutio,” Jackson says, smiling. “It is so good to see you. Do you have what I ordered?” </p><p>“They’re done,” Mercutio smiles. “And I think they’re what you were asking for.”</p><p>“Jackson, what did you do?” Stiles laughs. </p><p>Mercutio moves them to the back of the tent where two mannequin forms sit, covered by cloth. The designer whips the cloth off theatrically, revealing two beautiful chainmail tunics made from the lightest, most delicate links, cut slim, close to the body like designer shirts-- one in silver, one in black. Next to them lay two pairs of leather trousers, two belts, two sets of leather boots, and two metallic masks. </p><p>“They’re perfect,” Jackson smiles at Mercutio, “You have outdone yourself, man.” </p><p>“Jackson, you didn’t!” Stiles says, unsure what to make of the ensembles. </p><p>“Look,” Mercutio says, smiling conspiratorially at the princes. He picks up a metal bottle and gives it to Jackson. “Fresh from Amsterdam. It came came in this morning.” </p><p>Jackson opens the bottle and sniffs. He gives it to Stiles who smells it. Stiles immediately gives the bottle back to Jackson making a face. </p><p>“How many betas did you kill to get that?” Stiles asks, only half jokingly. </p><p>“They manufacture it in a highly controlled lab,” Mercutio says. “It’s what they use in witness protection programs. It’s effective but hard to acquire. It’ll even mask the most famous scent in the world.” He smiles. He gives them another bottle. “Then you take this to flush it out of your system.” He gives them a meaningful look. “Nobody will ever know.” </p><p>Stiles looks at Jackson. “We’re going to get caught.” </p><p>“You have a right to know what your options are,” Jackson says. “It’s just because the world is unfair that we have to do it this way.” </p><p>Stiles looks at him for a long moment, “Shit, you’re right aren’t you?” </p><p>Jackson smiles, “Have it all sent to Lydia.” He says to Mercutio. He looks at Stiles. “We’ll pick you up in the jet on Thursday. Lydia told Derek she wants to take you to a hospital opening in Martinsdale.” </p><p>“She lied to him?” Stiles asks, surprised. </p><p>“No,” Jackson says. “You’ll go to the hospital opening. You’ll get papped. Then we’ll fly two hours east and go to the party. Nobody has to lie to nobody.”</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. The Routine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Today in World Royals news we finally have a much anticipated update on how the first days have gone for Prince Stiles Stilinski while in Prince Derek Hale’s custody,” Anderson Cooper is saying on the television. “For more details, we have our Middlegreen royals expert, Greta Lancer. Greta, what can you tell us about the situation?” </p><p>A blonde middle-aged woman in a tweed suit comes on the screen. “Anderson, today marks the third day Prince Stiles has spent in Halebryne after what was a controversial ruling from Middlegreen’s Parliament earlier in the week that remanded Middlegreen’s most famous diplomat and world’s most eligible omega to be transferred to Derek Hale’s principality under his care. As many may recall, Prince Stiles’ mating case has been the most widely publicized and disputed case of mating rights we’ve seen in this century. Today was a highly unusual day in royal news, and quite frankly after covering the Middlegreen royals for twenty years I was shocked at what we saw.” </p><p>The screen cuts to paparazzi footage of Stiles and Jackson in the litter, Jackson’s arm swung around the other prince’s neck, smiling and eating ice cream cones.</p><p>“In what is a highly unusual public social appearance for Prince Stiles, the omega was spotted out in the town of Brightbryne today with Prince Jackson Martin of Martinsdale. The two A-list princes posed for the paparazzi and excited townspeople while eating ice cream and wearing matching pink diamond necklaces.” Greta’s voice continued in a voice-over. </p><p>“Greta, can you give our viewers insight on why this is such an unusual move for Prince Stiles and what it might tell us about the current status of the Churchaste appeal?” Anderson asks. </p><p>“Anderson, it is rare that we see Stiles out in a social setting, let alone posing for the press. It is equally rare to see an omega who has only recently been remanded to an alpha’s custody to be out in public at all, and almost unheard of for a newly remanded omega to be seen in the company of anyone from another principality.” Greta says. </p><p>“Can you give us an idea of what this might say about the mating case?” Anderson asks. </p><p>“Jackson Martin is Stiles’ best friend, and sources say Prince Derek flew Jackson in to surprise Stiles. The two princes were reportedly heading into town to look over a fresh shipment of luxury goods and that Prince Derek ordered the merchants to put whatever Stiles and Jackson wished to purchase on his accounts.” Greta smiles, “One merchant disclosed to us that Prince Derek was extremely clear there was no budget. There has been speculation the omegas were there to obtain goods for Stiles and Derek’s wedding. What this tells us, Anderson, is the Hales are feeling extremely confident they will win the case and Churchaste’s appeal will be struck down.”</p><p>“I know in the past the Middlegreen royal experts have thought Prince Stiles would not ultimately choose Prince Derek because of Derek’s more traditionalist style of alpha-ing,” Anderson says.  </p><p>“This is true, Anderson,” Greta says. “The Hales-- and Derek in particular-- are known for being stricter and more traditional guardians. Those of us who study the royals, who watch them, did not think Derek’s strict style of guardianship would be something that would appeal to Prince Stilinski, who is a well known maverick. Prince Michael Church is known to be much less of a traditionalist and many of us who have met him often compare him to a beta’s temperament. However, the Hales have been pushing the narrative for the last two years that Stiles and Derek have a strong love connection and it is parliament who is keeping them apart.”</p><p>“That has been a much-debated assertion, hasn’t it, Greta?” Anderson asks.  </p><p>“Many of the press have questioned the validity of this claim from the Hales,” Greta nods. “The general logic being if Stiles really already accepted Derek as his primary alpha, why Stiles hasn’t acknowledged Derek’s imprinting formally to the Middlegreen Parliament? Certainly, today’s events would support the Hales family’s claims. Stiles appeared better rested than we’ve ever seen him. The fact that Derek has brought Stiles’ best friend in, despite the fact that the alpha has had so little time with Stiles, certainly supports what Derek has said to the press and parliament about wanting Stiles to be happy. We’ve also seen the Hale family showering Stiles with expensive gifts, including the Hermes Himalaya omega bag Stiles was carrying today that was reportedly from Princess Cora. It’s clear Derek is intent on showing the Churches, who have the largest personal fortune of any family in the world, that the Hales can provide whatever material things the omega desires.” </p><p>“So, is this bad news for the Church family today?” Anderson asks. </p><p>“Yes and no.” Greta says. “I don’t think any of the royal experts are willing to call it just yet. In Churchaste’s favor is the fact that Stiles was not seen wearing an engagement ring today. This afternoon Churchaste announced Prince Michael has established a charity in Prince Stiles’ name that will sponsor higher education for underprivileged omegas-- a cause Stiles has personally championed and donated millions of dollars to in the past few years. Also, some sources from inside Brightbryne Castle have suggested some strife between Derek and Stiles in their first days together, although those same sources have confirmed the omega is living in Derek’s suite, reportedly sharing a bed with the Prince.”</p><p>“Is Prince Derek allowed to do that under the current custody order?” Anderson asks. </p><p>“Under the current order Prince Hale is permitted all liberties with the omega save for full consummation of the mating bond,” Greta says. “Things have gotten extremely ugly when it  comes to the details of mating relations. As part of the current custody agreement, Prince Stilinski has promised Hale an heir, although this could be satisfied through in vitro fertilization should Hale’s mating claim not be approved. Churchaste’s legal team has accused Prince Derek of obtaining this promise unlawfully and have even gone so far as to insinuate possible non-consensual actions on the part of Prince Derek.” </p><p>“Wow,” Anderson says. “Has Longfire commented about these accusations?” </p><p>“The Royal House of Longfire has refused to comment on any allegations or current sleeping arrangements,” Greta says. “The Hales have responded by filing a defamation suit.” </p><p>It’s 9:40 and Stiles has been standing by the door, watching Derek sitting on the edge of the bed dressed for bed, the alpha’s hair still damp from the shower, watching TV since he’d walked into Derek’s room, 10 minutes ago. He knows the alpha can smell him, knows Derek knows when he entered the space. </p><p>The alpha sighs, turns off the TV with the remote and stands up, walking towards Stiles. He smiles wanly. </p><p>“How was your day?” He asks, stopping a few feet from Stiles. </p><p>Stiles keeps his face purposely neutral. “It was fine.” </p><p>“Did Jackson leave?” Derek asks and Stiles thinks for the first time Derek looks tired. </p><p>“Yes, thank God.” Stiles says. </p><p>“Did you two have a good time?” Derek asks, running a hand through his own hair. “Did you find anything you liked?”</p><p>“The fresh air and the sunlight,” Stiles says. “And the people. The citizens here are lovely. They brought me flowers-- dozens and dozens of white roses, my royal flower. They laid them at the gates of the marketplace where they stood, waiting for us to come out.” </p><p>This does make Derek smile, “They love you.” He says. </p><p>“No,” Stiles says, “They love you. When we came back out and got back on the litter the crowd followed us back to the castle gates. Mothers held up their babies to be blessed with luck, and soldiers asked me to bless their dog tags in the same way.” He pauses, “All of them called to me in the crowds, asking me to marry you, to take care of their prince. They begged me to intercede to parliament. They begged me to be their queen.” </p><p>“Hmm,” Derek says. “They believe the talk about you. They believe you are lucky, that you will bless their land, that you, above all other omegas, are favored by the fates and that you will bring them change that will improve their lives as you have to your own people.” </p><p>“Do you believe that?” Stiles asks.</p><p>“I believe my people would be better off with you as their-- and my-- queen,” Derek says simply. He smiles, “Go shower and come to bed, my Ragia.” </p><p>Stiles showers and brushes his teeth, pulling on the fresh pajamas Avis has left for him. When he exits the bathroom, the lights of the bedroom are off and Derek has climbed under the covers of the bed, and is laying on his back. Stiles climbs in bed. Derek isn’t at the exact opposite of the bed, but he’s far enough away that Stiles cannot feel his heat, far enough that Stiles would not be able to reach out and touch him without moving. Stiles wonders if this is intentional. </p><p>He lies awake, cold and restless for an hour and then two. He can smell Derek, but the alpha hasn’t moved or uttered a sound, so Stiles assumes he’s fallen asleep. At last Stiles gets up as quietly as he can, shivering, and pads silently into the sitting room, grabbing the afghan and wrapping it around himself, trying to self-soothe, trying to slow the dull ache in his stomach. He sits hunched and closing his eyes on the cold velvet sofa. After a few long moments, he can smell Derek’s scent deepening and sense it moving out of the bed, over to the door, closer and closer, until it’s right next to him and Stiles can feel heat pouring off the alpha’s body. Derek’s arms are around him, warm and secure, and pressing his head gently into the space under the alpha’s jaw. Derek carries Stiles back into the bedroom, and bundles them both into bed, under the covers. The alpha maneuvers Stiles’ smaller body until he’s tucked in close to Derek, resting on the alpha’s warm chest. Stiles breathes in the perfect scent of him, luxuriating in the alpha’s warmth. Derek’s hands are running down his back, and rubbing his neck. And Stiles feels a sense of peace that almost drowns out the shame and embarrassment and self-hatred. </p><p>I’m sorry, he wants to say. You didn’t ask for this, a basket case of an omega, too weak to handle even a few days of change and stress without forcing you to coddle me. Without throwing myself at you for attention like a schoolgirl, because I know you’ll placate me because you have to. Because an alliance with me would be too valuable for your people for you to risk offending me. I’m sorry you’re stuck in this role. I’m sorry you have to play the doting alpha because it is your duty. I’m sorry they’ve pressured you into this. I know this is unfair and I hate myself.</p><p>The next morning is Thursday, Stiles wakes up in bed alone and Derek comes in fully dressed with a tray of tea. And this becomes a routine for them. They spend that day, together and apart, meeting with gardeners and staff, walking through the property. That night, Stiles comes in from dinner with Erica and finds Derek already showered and dressed for bed, sitting on the couch, reading his briefings from the day. He greets Stiles casually and asks about his day. Then Stiles showers, dresses for bed, and climbs into bed. After about two hours of tossing and turning, Stiles gets up and goes into the living room, all the while hating himself and calling himself every omega slur he can think of. He sits on the sofa in the darkness shivering and sulking, wrapped in an Afghan. Not three minutes later, Derek scoops him up and silently carries him back to bed. Stiles' whole body breathes a sigh of relief at the alpha’s touch and he hates himself even more. Derek rubs his back and neck silently, never saying a word, pressing Stiles close to him, and Stiles drifts off to sleep filled with bitter thoughts of his own weakness. </p><p>On Friday morning he wakes up to a deserted bed, and an already dressed Derek comes in with tea. They spend that day apart, with Stiles tied up in video meetings all day, as Derek has finally allowed him back to work. Stiles then returns to Derek’s room at 9:30 to find the alpha coming out of the shower eating half a ham sandwich. Derek inquires about his day, Stiles bitches and moans about the Russians, and showers, but not before stealing the rest of Derek’s sandwich. Derek is again in bed by the time Stiles gets out of the bathroom, and Stiles climbs in. Tonight, he’s committed to not forcing the alpha to gentle him, and he actually lasts four hours before his crawling skin and shivering forces him to roll out of bed. This time he doesn’t even make it out of the room before the alpha is there, picking him up, pressing him to his chest, and pulling him back into Derek’s side of the bed. </p><p>This time, Derek pauses and pulls Stiles’ shirt off, tossing it on the floor. The alpha then takes off his own shirt and presses Stiles’ bare torso against his own. Derek’s skin is warm and smooth and may be the most amazing thing Stiles has ever felt. Heat and Derek’s scent seep into Stiles’ freezing body and the alpha rubs his back and neck in soothing motions that are starting to feel familiar to Stiles. Stiles nuzzles his face into Derek’s neck, where his delicious scent is the strongest, and tries to block out the mocking voices in his own head. Then Derek tips Stiles’ head up in the darkness, stroking the omega’s face in his hands and kisses him gently, only for a moment, on Stiles’ lips. Stiles’ whole body floods first with heat and then with shame. He pushes away from Derek and rolls over, hating himself, internally cursing himself. They stay that way for five long minutes, his back to Derek, shivering and miserable. Then Derek’s strong arms pull him back into the alpha’s chest, close and wrapped tightly in Derek's arms, and they lay there spooned together, skin against skin until Stiles falls asleep.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. A Big Deal</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It wasn’t that Derek had thought Boyd would be wrong about this-- after all, the best and worst thing about Boyd was that he was usually right about everything. It’s just that when Boyd had said imprinting on an omega and then not being able to actually fuck that omega would be a big deal, Derek has seriously underestimated how big of a deal this would turn out to be for him.</p><p>Derek’s a brute and an animal and probably not even human anymore because all he can think about all day and most of the night is tearing off Stiles’ clothes, pressing him as close to Derek’s body as he physically can, and slowly tasting every inch of him, starting with his omega’s inviting pink lips and his tongue, and then down to his incredible-smelling neck, and shoulders, then the omega’s chest, and everywhere else. He spends full minutes fantasizing about what the soft skin on the back of Stiles’ knees must feel like under Derek’s lips. He’s taken to making himself cum at least three times a day in the shower to thoughts of Stiles under him, sighing and moaning and begging him for more. It’s not enough. He has to jack off at least twice before Stiles comes into their suite for bed, and even then he’s positive, once the omega is finally in his arms (depending on how long that takes any given night) Stiles can feel how hard he is, can feel Derek’s bloated, needy cock pressed against his stomach or back all night.</p><p>In Derek’s fantasies, Stiles is on his back, naked and perfect and beautiful, staring up at Derek with hunger, as Derek slowly sinks into him inch by inch.</p><p>“<em>More,” Stiles begs in Derek’s fantasies. “I need to feel you.” Derek kisses him. “I love you.” Stiles whispers. “Only you can do this to me.” And then, best of all. “I love you. I’ll never leave you.”</em></p><p>He’s a monster. And worst than that he’s fucking this up. He knows he is. Stiles comes to bed every night smelling miserable and filled with anxiety. And every night Derek tells himself he’ll keep his hands off of Stiles-- he’ll let the omega come to him, even though every alpha instinct is screaming to Derek that this is complete bullshit, that his omega is suffering and needs to be held and gentled immediately. They both lay awake for hours and Derek can smell Stiles’ getting increasingly uncomfortable and stressed until finally the omega gets up and Derek gets so panicked that Stiles is trying to leave, trying to run from him, he can’t help himself but to physically go get the omega and hold him close where he knows the omega can’t get up without Derek noticing. And this seems to both help and not help Stiles, if the omega’s scent is anything to go by. Stiles does settle in Derek’s arms, will even cling to him, pressing his perfect face into Derek’s neck, and eventually Stiles will fall asleep. However, the omega always smells miserable and sad and Derek knows it’s his fault, knows this and he are not what Stiles wants.</p><p>Derek carefully wakes up every morning before Stiles and gets out of bed. This is a lame attempt on his part-- maybe if Stiles doesn’t have to wake up in Derek’s arms he’ll forgive Derek for holding him so tightly, so desperately every night, forgive Derek for being such an animal. He longs to ask Stiles how he can make this better for him, how-- if in any way-- Derek can make Stiles maybe like him a little bit or at least like being touched by him. But Derek also knows Stiles is smart and tough and brokered a peace treaty between Yemen and Oman and if the omega thought any of his thoughts about being touched were any of Derek’s fucking business, he would tell the alpha. Stiles is not an omega who is afraid to ask for what he wants, or even take what he wants. If Stiles wanted Derek to gentle him or settle him more, the omega knows it would be as easy as reaching out for Derek in their bed and putting Derek’s hands wherever he wants them.</p><p>And isn’t that a thought, Stiles guiding Derek’s hands over his body, showing him exactly how he wants to be touched-- Derek needs to stop this immediately. He’s out of control. Last night he’d even lost control and stripped the omega of his shirt and then pressed their naked torsos together. Derek had never felt or smelled anything so good in his life as when Stiles’ bare chest relaxed against his, and the omega had actually pressed in closer with a small whine. Derek hadn’t been able to stop himself, he’d kissed Stiles, and the omega had responded in a predictably revolted way, pushing Derek away and rolling over, reeking of misery. The rejection had felt like he had just been shot in the stomach and Derek had lain there in the darkness, watching Stiles’ back and smelling his pain for minutes that felt like eternity. If Derek was any kind of good person, or good alpha he would have left the omega alone, or even gone to sleep in a different room. But Derek is terrible and greedy and cannot stand the smell of Stiles’ anxiety, so he had reached out and pulled Stiles miserable little body in close to him. In some miracle, the omega had fallen asleep almost instantly then, probably pretending he was somewhere else.</p><p>When Derek walks back into their room with Stiles’ usual morning tray of tea and fruit, the omega is just blinking awake. He’s become slightly uncovered in the night, and the omega’s beautiful bare chest is clearly visible in the morning sunlight. Noticing this immediately, the omega sits up and pulls the blankets up to his chin, not looking at Derek.</p><p>Derek pretends not to have noticed Stiles partial nudity. He sets the tray down on the bed, as has become his habit.</p><p>“You have that thing with Hong Kong at nine?” He asks the omega casually.</p><p>Stiles nods, resting back, propped up against the pillows, the blankets still pulled up to his chin. “Giant pain in my ass,” the omega mutters. “I don’t care what they think is going to happen with Tibet-- I’m sending an ambassador over there.”</p><p>The omega looks so pretty and so grumpy, Derek can’t help but smile. “You going to be home for dinner?”</p><p>“Home?” The omega frowns. “Like where?”</p><p>“I thought we could have dinner here tonight,” Derek says, motioning to their suite. “You’ve been so busy, we haven’t eaten dinner together once.”</p><p>“Is that a thing people do?” the omega frowns at him.</p><p>“Eat dinner?” Derek smiles, “Yes.”</p><p>Stiles rolls his eyes and reaches over towards his nightstand. Derek watches the omega awkwardly try to grab the Times off the table without exposing his chest. Derek grabs the paper and hands it to him.</p><p>“Sounds unnecessary,” Stiles sniffs, scanning the headlines, sinking deeper into the blankets.</p><p>Derek smiles and he can’t help himself, he scoots up next to Stiles, getting under the covers and pulls the omega onto his lap. Stiles lets out a squawk of indignation, but then the omega shifts slightly in Derek’s lap, as if to find a more stable place to rest, and Derek can feel the omega pressing against his erection. He knows Stiles can feel it too, because the omega freezes slightly, Stiles eyes stop moving over the pages of the paper. Derek is about to run his fingers through Stiles hair once and then put the omega back on his own side of the bed and leave him to bathe and dress for the day, when he smells it-- Stiles’ scent is deepening in a deliciously unmistakable way and for the first time Derek can smell wet arousal beginning to build in the omega. He looks at Stiles, the omega isn’t looking at him, is still staring at the paper, but he’s turned the most beautiful pink color.</p><p>“You think everything is unnecessary,” Derek smiles against Stiles’ ear, pressing his lips closer. He hears Stiles’ breath catch and slowly, Derek runs his large, warm hands up and over Stiles’ bare stomach. The omega has frozen, and he still won’t look at Derek, but his pupils have dilated and his breathing has started to become a little more noticeable.</p><p>“You can at least find time to come home before 9:30 once this week,” Derek continues, rubbing soft circles on Stiles’ smooth stomach with one hand. He can smell Stiles getting wetter and hotter, watches the flush building in the omega’s perfect face with fascination. “I won’t even make you eat real food,” He murmurs into Stiles’ ear. “You can eat as many fries as you want.” All the while Derek’s other hand is slowly moving up Stiles’ chest until he finally cups one of the omega’s pectorals, squeezing it gently. He watches Stiles close his eyes and let out a shuttering breath.</p><p>“My good boy,” Derek breathes Stiles’ ear. His over hand has moved up to rest on Stiles’ other pectoral and he begins to thumb one of the omega’s nipples, rubbing it gently, and smelling Stiles’ getting wetter and wetter as the alpha teases his skin. “I hate being away from you all day,” Derek says. He begins to pinch both of the omega’s sensitive nipples, teasing them, hyper aware of the omega’s reactions, of what seems to draw the biggest responses from him. “Mmm,” Derek kisses Stiles’ neck. “I love you.”</p><p>At these words, Stiles’ body freezes and the omega shoves off Derek with both hands. In a quick, graceful move Stiles rolls out of bed, and stands there bare-chested, the morning sunlight playing over his beautiful creamy skin. Both of the omega’s lovely pink nipples are on display, erect after Derek’s ministrations, and Stiles looks at Derek, the omega’s shorts hanging low on his enticing hip bones. The omega just stares at Derek insolently, seemingly without concern for modesty or embarrassment about his exposed skin. He looks at Derek with a detached, imperious look on his beautiful face, as if he knows exactly how many sexual fantasies he’s inspired in alphas over the years, as if he is fully aware that it would take less than nothing to have Derek at his feet, on his knees, begging to be allowed to touch any part of him. The omega turns around and stretches in the sunlight, the flawless skin of his slender back catching the light. He looks back at Derek, his face blank and watches the alpha watch him take off his sleeping shorts. The omega turns and bends over to put them in the laundry hamper, clothed only in his underwear. Then the omega pulls them off as well, leaving his entire body bare in the sunlight for Derek to drink in. Stiles glances over his shoulder one time at Derek, a distantly superior look in his honey eyes before walking into the bathroom.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Stop, Drop, Roll</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“I have officially lost control over this situation,” Stile’s head is laying in Jackson’s lap. It’s Thursday morning and the two omegas are lounging on a couch in the Hillsworth Courtyard waiting for Derek and Lydia to finish trying to out-alpha each other in the drawing room. </p><p>Jackson flicks Stiles in the ear, “Good.” <br/>Stiles looks up at him in surprise, “Good? How in the hell is that good?” </p><p>“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say those words,” Jackson says. </p><p>“Why?” Stiles glares up at him. </p><p>“Because, Dipshit, that’s what happens when you find a worthy alpha,” Jackson says. “You cede control over to them. That’s the fucking goal.” </p><p>“And what fucking part of Derek Hale is worthy?” Stiles seethes. “The part where he’s been trying to take everything I hold dear from me or the part where I can’t be in his presence for longer than two minutes without wanting to kill either him or myself?” </p><p>“How about the part where he puts up with the most spoiled, entitled, neurotic, constipated, emotionally dead, masochistic, omega dictator in human history? How about the part where most other alphas would have chained you naked to a bed by now and fucked you until you were forced to admit you need to submit? How about the part where he’s actually willing to negotiate?” Jackson asks. “Jesus, Stiles-- do you know how many people’s lives revolve around you because you won’t calm the fuck down? Do you know how many people worry about you because you’re apparently crucial to worldwide politics and yet you seem completely set on running into avoidable wall after avoidable wall?”</p><p>Jackson shakes his head, “Do you know how much my alpha has worried about you over the past four years? Lydia has been terrified you’re going to actually die of exhaustion on her watch and she’s the only alpha left that you’ll let take care of you. She’s been going out of her mind with worry because she’s terrified even an alpha as strong a Derek fucking Hale can’t get through to you. Do you know what happened after your mother self-destructed? The way she rejected your father over and over again until he became a miserable bastard who hated everyone and she went out every night until a drunk limo driver got her killed.” </p><p>“I know that, Jackson,” Stiles says between clenched teeth. “I’ve read all the archived news articles about it. They all blamed my dad for not being able to tame her, to take care of her. I know he thought they were right. And that’s why he hated me. He thought if he hadn’t pushed her so hard for an heir she might have stayed with him. Might have given him a chance.” Stiles frowns. “But they weren’t right. It wasn’t my dad’s fault she wanted freedom. That she didn’t want to be an omega. Or a mother.” </p><p>Stiles stares into the distance for a long moment, his face unreadable. “I do settle for him, by the way.” He says. </p><p>“What?” Jackson asks. </p><p>“I do settle for Derek,” Stiles says, his voice soft. “I will sleep for him.” Stiles pauses. “I let him hold me at night. I even let him kiss me.” Stiles closes his eyes. “So, don’t tell me I’m not trying. Don’t tell me I’m trying to self-destruct.” Stiles sighs. “I just don’t want him to tell me he loves me. I can’t stand that. The rest of it I can deal with but I… I hate that.” </p><p>Jackson sighs and squeezes Stiles’ shoulder, “I’m sorry this is so hard for you.”</p><p>“What is?” Stiles asks, dully. </p><p>“To believe someone loves you,” Jackson says. </p><p>“He doesn’t love me,” Stiles says. “He’s just been taught better than the others how to fake it.” Stiles sighs. “Let’s not forget what he is-- a warlord. A military strategist. He’s committed to victory.” Stiles smiles sadly. “And he’s beautiful and strong and he knows exactly how to touch an omega, and he smells… like he does. Yes, they’ve shaped a lethal weapon in him.” Stiles looks far away. “And I’m sure I’m going to lose this war, Jackson. I’m sure Laura will deliver Tura in a few months and I’ll have to either mate with him or risk a civil war.” Stiles sighs, “And then he’ll knock me up and after I’ve given birth he’ll either send me back to Longfire or to one of his sister’s castles in the east-- same story we hear about year after year about other highborn omegas. And Derek will go back to whatever bevy nobleman’s sons and daughters he was entertaining himself with before he had to start the charade and the whole world will know he tamed Stiles Stilinski-- had me stuffed and mounted on the wall like one of his hunting trophies..” </p><p>“Yeah,” Jackson snorts. “He’s super eager to get you out from under him, that’s why he’s spent the last hour threatening Lydia about what he’s going to do if she doesn’t bring you back to him unharmed as soon as humanly possible.” </p><p>“She got him to agree to let me stay the night with you, right?” Stiles asks. </p><p>“Yes,” Jackson said. “He didn’t want that, but she convinced him you’ve been missing me and you’ll sleep better next to me.” </p><p>“He bought that I’ve been missing you?” Stiles asks. </p><p>“He bought that you’re less of an asshole to me than to him at night,” Jackson laughs. “Look, it’s not hard to get him to do anything when it comes to you.”</p><p>“He’s probably sick of sleeping next to me,” Stiles mutters. </p><p>“What the fuck do I know?” Jackson shrugs. “He offered to have me stay here tonight with you instead. Of course Lydia said she’s not going to deal with his scent all over me. And then they got into this whole argument about which of them smells more alpha.” Jackson rolls his eyes. “Tedious.” </p><p>“Are you being nice to Stiles?” Lydia’s voice floats over and Stiles and Jackson turn to see Lydia and Derek entering the courtyard. </p><p>“No,” Jackson grins at her. </p><p>“I told you that you should have married me instead,” Stiles says, grinning up at Lydia. </p><p>“How do you even stand him?” Jackson whines up at his alpha, indicating to Stiles. “He’s so annoying.”</p><p>“And he’s so awful,” Stiles says. </p><p>“That’s not what you said last night,” Jackson smacks Stiles in the pec. </p><p>“That’s not what your mom said last night,” Stiles mutters, hitting Jackson back in the same place. </p><p>Lydia eyes Derek, “Don’t look at me like that, I know I fucked up introducing them to each other.” She glares at the omegas, “Will you two stop boob-punching each other--”</p><p>“That’s what she said,” both omegas say in unison. It causes them to laugh and punch each other again. </p><p>“The jet is ready to go,” Lydia snaps her manicured fingers under both their faces. “I regret everything, oh my God.” </p><p>Derek leans down next to Stiles and scents him where he lays in Jackson’s lap, “Are you going to be okay?” </p><p>“Of course,” Stiles says. </p><p>“Will you call me when you land?” Derek asks, running a hand through Stiles’ hair. </p><p>“I’ll have Gerard do it,” Stiles says, referring to his head of security. “We’re going to be on a tight schedule to make it to the hospital opening because two of us couldn’t stop their pissing contest.” </p><p>Derek smiles down at Stiles, “I want you to call me, not Gerard.” He pets Stiles brow. “Give me a kiss.” Stiles makes a face and Derek laughs. “Come on, I won’t get to kiss you goodnight.” Stiles rolls his eyes, but leans over and kisses Derek on his forehead. “That doesn’t count.” Derek says, smiling. He leans down and presses his lips to Stiles’, kissing him only for a moment, closed mouth. Then he looks into Stiles eyes, “If you need anything call me immediately. If you want to come home during the night for any reason I’ll come get you.” </p><p>“Oh my God, Derek,” Stiles says, sitting up and gently nudging the alpha out of his face. “I did manage to live nineteen years without you, you know. I’m going to be fine.” </p><p>“Hmm,” Derek sighs. He leans back on his heels, looking up at Stiles, “Are you sure you have to go?” </p><p>“Yes,” Stiles rolls his eyes. </p><p>“You’ll be able to sleep?” Derek asks, worry clouding his eyes. </p><p>“My brain makes me unconscious whenever I’m with Jackson out of sheer self-preservation,” Stiles says, “I once slept fifteen hours straight just to avoid listening to him talk about the NBA play-offs.” </p><p>“Derek,” Lydia says, her voice clear and dominant, “It’s time to go.” </p><p>But Derek doesn’t let go of Stiles’ hands, “You’ll come back?” He asks, looking into the omega’s eyes. “You’ll come home to me, right?”</p><p>Stiles blinks, “Yeah-- we’re just going-- I’ll be back soon.” </p><p>Derek nods, but then he sweeps Stiles’ up in his arms and carries him through the courtyards with Jackson and Lydia following behind and the pages following carrying Stiles’ bag. He carries Stiles to the jet and it takes him a long time to let him go and watch Stiles climb the jet’s stairs with Jackson.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Option B</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“How do I look?” Jackson asks, studying himself in a lighted compact mirror and adjusting his metallic mask.  </p><p>“Unbearable,” Stiles mutters, taking the mirror from Jackson and studying his own reflection.</p><p>He has to hand it to Jackson. He’d thought there was no way in hell this would work, but one of Jackson’s stylists had attacked his hair with bleach blonde hair dye, promising to dye it back before he needed to get back to Brightbryne. They had then put colored contacts in Stiles and Jackson-- blue for Stiles and brown for Jackson. Afterwards, they’d slicked both omegas’ hair back in a style popular in Churchaste. Lastly, both of the omegas had downed full bottles of the terrible-tasting liquid from Amsterdam right before the plane took off for Churchaste. They were now in the back of a black SUV being driven by Lydia’s head of security (who was also in disguise,) to McCall’s castle in Hasteborn, both omegas dressed as knights. </p><p>“How do I smell?” Stiles asks, looking over at Jackson. </p><p>Jackson leans over, and coughs, “Disgusting-- but in a different way than you usually smell disgusting.” </p><p>Stiles sighs, “Do I smell like an omega?” </p><p>Jackson takes another whiff, “No. You’re just a sweet-smelling beta. I mean, I think I know your scent better than anyone and I don’t think I could clock you right now.” </p><p>“Great,” Stiles says, sighing. His pocked buzzes and he pulls out his phone. “Derek is calling me again. What time is it in Brightbryne right now?” </p><p>“Um,” Jackson thinks about it. “9:30, I think. Didn’t you just talk to him when we landed at the hospital six hours ago?” </p><p>“Yeah,” Stiles sighs, putting his phone away. </p><p>“I wonder what he wants,” Jackson says. </p><p>“If it’s an emergency he can call Gerard,” Stiles sighs. </p><p>“Holy shit!” Jackson grabs Stiles’ arm. He rolls down the window. </p><p>The McCall castel is one of the most beautiful and stately Stiles has ever seen, with enormous turrets covered in flowers. Huge searchlights dance in the sky as glittering costumed party-attendees are pulling up in SUVs, luxury cars, and limos. Music blares through the air and above them fireworks split the sky. Lines and lines of attendants in white tie offer the guests champagne and food as they enter the castle. Several industrial sized blowers are spitting colorful bubbles into the crowd and as Jackson’s SUV pulls up a man tries to hand them flowers made from cotton candy lit up with LED cones through the window.</p><p>Jackson’s disguised security team gets out first, opening the door for the two omegas. The two masked boys step out of the vehicle only to be greeted by a beautiful beta dressed as a fairy. </p><p>“Gentlemen, are you on the list?” She asks, smiling. Jackson holds up two ID cards, and the beta leans over to look at them. “Ah yes, Lords Brennan and Bruce James of Martinsdale and your security team. Welcome, my lords.” She smiles, “The pool is to your right, and the dance floor is to your left. Please let any of the white coated attendants know if you need anything at all.” </p><p>Jackson grabs Stiles by the arm and the two of them enter the enormous, and stunning foyer of the castle. Every bannister is covered in ropes and ropes of flowers. Glitter and petals fill the air and beautifully-dressed party-goers laugh and dance and drink from crystal goblets. It seems as though every five feet there are carving stations overflowing with beef tenderloin, fresh Alaskan king crab, trays and trays of lobster tails, whole roast pigs, and prawns the size of Stiles’ hands. On a marble landing above them, three chefs scoop ice cream for guests, while acrobats perform, dangling from the impossibly high ceiling. </p><p>“Did you say this is Lord Scott McCall’s castle?” Stiles asks Jackson. </p><p>“This is one of twelve estates Prince Michael owns,” Jackson says, guiding them through the sparkling crowd. “Michael lets Scott’s household quarter here. Prince Michael’s primary estate is twice the size of this place.” Jackson looks at Stiles. “Henry Westly Church wasn’t messing around when he said there’s no way the Hales can outspend him in court.” Jackson pauses, “Not that I think that was ever the Hales’ strategy when it comes to this whole mess. They seem more like an assassinate first, ask questions later type family. I mean, all the money in the world is not going to stop Derek from ripping out your throat if he’s motivated enough.” </p><p>“Derek wouldn’t do that,” Stiles says. “He’s not irrational.” </p><p>“I wouldn’t bet the farm on that,” Jackson says, downing the rest of his champagne. </p><p>The two boys walk though the crowds, pausing to look at paintings or sculptures. Jackson happily eats his weight in prawns, but Stiles is too intent on observing everything around him to eat. Finally, the two boys find a couch to settle on in the third pool room they’d found. This one was decorated in Art Deco themed monograms. </p><p>Two lovely betas dressed like Greek goddesses, swathed in filmy silk settle down next to them laughing, drinking champagne, both clearly already a little intoxicated. </p><p>“Can we join you gentlemen?” The taller one asks. She smiles, and Stiles can see every one of her fingers is sporting an enormous emerald ring. </p><p>Stiles looks wary, but Jackson smiles, “It would be our pleasure.” </p><p>“I’m the Countess Anora of Churchaste,” the beta extends her hand to Jackson and then to Stiles. “I live right down the road from here.” She indicates to the beta dripping in pearls next to her. “This is my sister, the Lady Jewel.” </p><p>“Charmed,” Jackson smiles. “I am Lord Brennan James of Martinsdale and this is my brother, Lord Bruce.” </p><p>“So lovely to meet you,” Jewel says smiling, taking a sip of her champagne. “Have you attended one of Lord McCall’s parties previously? I know the Crown is always eager to have more guests here from Martinsdale.” </p><p>“No,” Jackson says, pleasantly. “I’m afraid my brother and I have been studying in America over the last few years and we haven’t had the pleasure.” </p><p>“Oh, what have you been studying in America?” Lady Anora smiles. “You know our cousin, Prince Michael completed his law degree there at Yale.” </p><p>Jackson stares at Stiles. Stiles smiles and says, “International business and nonprofit leadership.” </p><p>“How fascinating,” Lady Jewel says. “Prince Michael studied environmental law, but he’s been rather busy of late with a nonprofit project he started.”</p><p>“Well,” Lady Jewel smiles, “To be fair it’s one of many he’s founded. Prince Michael is very involved with the community here. I suppose that’s one reason the royal family is so popular in Churchaste.” <br/>“Are they polling well with your public?” Stiles asks keenly. </p><p>“The approval ratings have never been higher,” Lady Jewel says. “Of course it helps that they keep Henry out of the press these days. With Prince Michael in the public eye, Uncle Henry can focus on ruling.”</p><p>“Poor Uncle Henry,” Lady Anora laughs. “He’s a brilliant businessman, but he never was a popular statesman and he’s simply awful with the press.” </p><p>“Well, it’s because of his temper,” Lady Jewel says, confidentially. “They say he makes the Hales look tame by comparison. Of course he’s simply furious about Hale being granted custody of Prince Stiles.” </p><p>“Now, Jewel, cut Uncle Henry some slack,” Lady Anora laughs. “Michael has been absolutely despondent since the news. That poor alpha.” She looks sad. “He’s written letter after letter to the omega trying to appeal to him, to ask him to just meet with him.” </p><p>Jackson looks at Stiles from the corner of his eye and says, “Has Prince Stiles responded?” </p><p>“Not once,” Lady Anora says. “Of course who’s to say if Stiles is even receiving Prince Michael’s letters now that he’s in Derek’s custody.” </p><p>“Right…” Stiles looks back at Jackson, through his mask. </p><p>“Excuse me, my lords,” The beta fairy from the front gates is tapping Jackson on the shoulder with an apologetic smile. “I’ve been instructed that Lord McCall would like to personally welcome you to Churchaste.” </p><p>“Why?” Stiles asks, clearly forgetting for a moment he’s not supposed to be a prince. </p><p>“I do apologize, Lord James,” The fairy says with a smile, “Lord McCall is just so thrilled to have nobles here from Martinsdale. I was told he must meet you immediately.” </p><p>Stiles looks at Jackson, trying to communicate with him. Jackson looks back and then stands up with a forced smile. “If that’s what Lord McCall would like, we’re happy to oblige.” </p><p>“Wonderful,” The fairy leads the two of them out of the pool house and through a maze of corridors. The first few passages are littered with party-goers, but after a few more doors, Stiles can tell they are entering the more intimate living quarters of the castle.</p><p>At last the beta stops in front of two french doors, and turns to them smiling, “If you would, Lord Bruce, he’d like to meet with you first.” She says, nodding.</p><p>Stiles looks at Jackson in alarm. “He can’t meet with us together?” </p><p>“I’m sorry,” the beta says. “He’s asked to meet with Lord Bruce alone, then Lord Brennan can join him in a few minutes.” </p><p>“I’m not letting him in there alone,” Jackson says, staring at the beta.</p><p>Stiles is instantly afraid Jackson is going to blow their cover. He puts a hand on Jackson’s arm. “It’s okay.” He says, “I’m happy to meet with Lord McCall.” He eyes Jackson, who looks pale and a little panicked under his mask. </p><p>“Thank you, my lord,” the beta nods. She opens one of the doors and Stiles slips through. </p><p>The room he enters is a small library, rich with beautiful leather bound volumes, beautiful artifacts, and a large antique map of Middlegreen on the wall. A gorgeous roaring fire sits in the grate and there are two large, comfortable leather sofas in the middle of the room. While all of this is a sight, Stiles barely has time to take it in because of the alpha standing in front of the fire dressed in a white tunic and navy strides. He’s a few inches shorter than Derek with reddish blond hair and his chest is just as broad as the Hale prince’s. Around his neck is a simple string of diamonds, and his eyes are a light forget-me-not blue. They stare at Stiles and Stiles stares at him. Then Prince Michael Westly Church of Churchaste walks over to Stiles, bends down on one knee and lowers his head. </p><p>“Princes Stiles of Longfire, ‘I ne’er saw true beauty till this night,’” The prince recites this line from Romeo and Juliet. “I am yours to command.” </p><p>Shaking slightly, Stiles takes off his mask with one hand, “How did you know?” </p><p>The prince is still keeping his eyes respectfully on the floor, but at Stiles’ question he raises them and looks up at the omega earnestly. “There is no way you could be this close to me and I wouldn’t know. I could smell you the moment you entered the doors,” He bows his head again. “Forgive me for forcing you to meet you under false pretenses like this. I was just so worried you would refuse.” He swallows visibly. “But I had hoped perhaps…” He pauses and looks up at Stiles again. “Perhaps you came here tonight to see me.” </p><p>“Please get up,” Stiles says. This feels an alpha should not be on his knees before him. “I did come to see you, just maybe not meet you.”</p><p>Stiles can see Michael’s face fall a little at Stiles’ last words, but he stands up and nods. “Can I have them bring you anything, Your Grace?” </p><p>“No,” Stiles says, “Thank you, but no. Maybe we could just…” Stiles trails off, unsure, “Sit down and talk?” </p><p>Prince Michael smiles, “I would like that very much.” He guides them over to one of the sofas and waits for Stiles to sit down first, before sitting next to him, a respectful distance away. Michael looks nervous, keeps fidgeting with his hands. His smell is light and fresh like pine cones and moss. “I have wanted to talk with you for a long time, Prince Stiles, and I’ve been afraid I’d never get the chance.” </p><p>“Okay,” Stiles says. </p><p>“Look,” Prince Michael says, looking up at Stiles almost shyly. “I’m not stupid. I have eyes. I know what I look like and what Prince Derek is.” He pauses, looking at his hands. “I went to school with Derek and his older sister. I know he’s the kind of alpha… omegas dream about.” Michael sighs. “But I think-- I think maybe you’re different.” Michael says, looking at Stiles earnestly. “And I won’t lie to you.” </p><p>“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, puzzled. </p><p>“I know this isn’t ideal for you,” Michael says. “It’s not for me either. I’ve been dreading being mated since I was a kid.” He pauses. “But I want you to know there are other options than just Hale.” He looks at Stiles. “I know you’ve promised to mate with Derek provided Laura can deliver Tura in 90 days. I just want you to know Laura isn’t the only one who can give you Tura.” Michael looks at Stiles carefully, “Churchaste may not have the military advantages that Halebryne has, but we do have a lot of allies and a lot of resources.” Michael nods. “I wrote to you about this, but I’ve never heard back from you.” </p><p>“I never got the letters,” Stiles says. </p><p>“I figured,” Michael nods, “I just wanted to let you know that my father has entered into an alliance with Russia. Say the word and the Russian special ops will go in and hand you Tura.” He looks at Stiles, “We may not have the men here at Churchaste, but we can buy any army you need in the world.” </p><p>“I see,” Stiles says, looking at the prince. “So, if you both can give me Trua then why should I accept you over Derek?” </p><p>“I know, I’m not very alpha,” Michael says. “My father only reminds me of this every day.” He looks up at Stiles. “I don’t want to give orders or constantly hold your hand-- I know that’s not what you want either. But I can be honest with you and I can offer  you a fair deal. We can be mated and have an heir and I won’t bother you. You can stay in Longfire and I’ll stay here. This way, my father’s happy, you’re happy, parliament is happy.” He looks at Stiles. “I don’t think you’re going to get a better deal than that.” </p><p>“No,” Stiles says, feeling a bit numb. “You’re probably right.” </p><p>Michael smiles, “You’re so beautiful. I’m not going to lie-- if I manage to marry an omega like you, I think my father will finally leave me alone, and the press will probably finally leave you alone as well. That alone would make all of this worth it.” </p><p>“Right,” Stiles takes a breath. “Well, you make a compelling argument.” </p><p>“I just…” Michael says. “I’m not like other alphas. I believe in being fair to you.” </p><p>“You don’t think Derek has been fair to me?” Stiles asks. </p><p>“I mean,” Prince Michael sighs. “It’s just… I went to school with Derek. I know what kind of alpha he is. He knows what to say to omegas. He’s ridiculously good at figuring out what makes them tick, what they want to hear.” Michael shrugs. “There was only ever one omega I really believed he ever loved-- Kate Argent.” </p><p>“The Duchess of Laurelstown,” Stiles asks, feeling something cold and aching pooling in his stomach. </p><p>“Yeah,” Michael says, “Her. For two years they were inseparable.” He sighs. “And I wouldn’t feel right if I didn’t tell you that rumor amongst the alpha heirs is that he has her set up in one of his estates on the farside of Halesbryne.” Micheal shrugs, “They say he’s promised to make her his royal mistress after you’re wed.” He looks apologetic, “I’m sorry. I just… thought you should know. That someone should tell you.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Stiles says numbly. “I mean, it’s not unusual for princes to take mistresses. I guess… I guess I’m not surprised, I should be surprised…” Stiles blinks. “I mean, I’m not surprised.”</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Michael says, reaching out and taking Stiles’ hands. “Most alphas heirs don’t care about what they say to omegas. I mean, we’re pretty much indoctrinated from birth to say or do whatever we need to in order to gain power for our kingdoms. I just…” he looks into Stiles’ eyes. “I’m not like that. I respect you and what you’ve done too much to try to pull that shit with you.” </p><p>Stiles nods, trying to find purchase in his own turbulent head. </p><p>Micheal smiles, “You really are beautiful.” He reaches out tentatively, not quite touching Stiles’ face. He pauses, stopping just short of contact, “Can I kiss you?” </p><p>Stiles looks into Michael’s clear blue eyes, and he doesn’t know what to feel, what to do, if he can even breathe. He nods. </p><p>Michael leans in and kisses him on the lips hard, clumsily. Stiles is a little take aback, but before he can respond, the doors to the library are thrown open and Derek is storming in with Boyd, Lydia, and Jackson close behind him. Derek’s face is transformed with rage. </p><p>“Get away from him or I will kill you!” Derek growls, and the smell of his anger fills the whole room like poisonous gas. “You,” He looks at Stiles. “Come here.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. Restraint</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Go. To bed. Derek.” Boyd wishes he had never picked up the phone. Possibly never had been born into this principality in the first place. </p><p>“No. Meet me on the tarmac in fifteen.” Derek is unrelenting. </p><p>“This is a bad idea.” Boyd says. “Worse than bad, and as much as I love you, man-- I’m not going to be known as the dude who had to pull Derek Hale off the corpse of Michael Westly Church at a party.” </p><p>“I’m not going there to fight Church,” Derek sighs. “Give me some credit. I’m going there because Lord McCall invited me. We’re not enemies with Churchaste--”</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry, what were the last 18 months of my sorry life about, then?” Boyd asks. “13 motherfucking court appearances before parliament. Countless all nighters listening to you bitch and moan and your sisters plot to take over the whole fucking Middle East. Jesus.” </p><p>“We’re not enemies with Churchaste and Hales aren’t sore winners,” Derek says, completely ignoring Boyd. “The princely thing to do is to make an appearance at this party, make nice, tell him there’s no hard feelings, and shake his hand like a man.” </p><p>There is a long pause. “Oh, I’m sorry did you really expect me to buy that?” Boyd asks. “I know you, Derek-- you think this is a victory lap. You’re going over there to rub it this in Church’s face-- probably rub Stiles’ scent on you in Church’s face--” </p><p>“I don’t need to do that, Boyd. Jesus, what kind of knothead do you think I am?” Derek sighs.</p><p>“When it comes to that omega? An extremely stupid, rediculously transparent knothead.” Boyd says. </p><p>“That was a rhetorical question.” Derek says, sounding less than thrilled. “I’m not going there to rub the custody order in Church’s face. I’m just trying to smooth things over and be a little gracious about this whole mess.” </p><p>“I have an idea,” Boyd says. “How about we be gracious about this whole mess after you’ve married and knocked up Stiles, how about that? How about we name your first goddamn baby after Prince Michael? How about we start counting chickens after they’ve hatched for once in your life and you let me go to bed with my own omega who never did anything to you and still has to put up with your bullshit?” </p><p>“Tell Erica I said hi, by the way,” Derek notes mildly. “Look, Longfire is going to need Churchaste’s cooperation in the next few years as they start to rebuild their economy. And Churchaste is going to need both Halebryne and Longfire’s help in the next elections. I don’t want their heir to think this was personal.” Derek sighs, “And this is the perfect night. Lydia is taking care of Stiles, so he won’t be stressed out about this, like you apparently are. We’ll fly in, stop by, play nice, and leave. Simple. And tomorrow morning my baby will be back… probably smelling too much like Jackson, but we’ll deal with that then.” </p><p>“Fine,” Boyd says. “Fine. It’s been nice not being associated with murderers up until now, but fine.” </p><p>Derek calls Lydia next.</p><p>“Hey Derek,” she picks up right away. “What’s up?” </p><p>“Hey, did you get that invite to the McCall thing tonight?” He asks the princess.</p><p>A long pause and then, “Yeah, I think so,” Lydia takes a breath, “Why?”</p><p>“Boyd and I are going to head out to it tonight,” Derek tells her. “I just wanted to let you know I’m not going to be home for a few hours so if Stiles needs me, call my security team and they’ll let me know. Okay?” </p><p>Another long pause. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Derek.” She says. </p><p>“Neither does Boyd,” Derek says. “But it is a good idea. We’re not even going to be there long. It’s just like… a diplomatic thing.” </p><p>“Derek-- you’re going to kill Church if you see him, you know that, right?” Lydia asks. </p><p>“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Derek sighs. </p><p>“Probably because you’ve spent the last two years saying you’re going to kill him if you see him,” Lydia says, her voice troubled. </p><p>“Look,” Derek sighs. “I hate him less now that Stiles is mine.” </p><p>“Is Stiles yours?” Lydia asks. </p><p>“Look, I know Stiles is taking time to adjust, and that’s to be expected, but I also know now how much he needs me. Can’t you tell the difference in him already?” Derek asks. “He’ll actually sleep when he’s with me, Lydia. Real sleep. And he lets me feed him more than fries. He’ll actually eat fruit for me in the mornings.” </p><p>“Yeah, Derek,” Lydia says, lowly. “I think I can. Okay. I’m getting on a plane. If you’re going to be this stupid, I’m going too.” </p><p>“Lydia, stay home with the omegas.” Derek says. “What if they need you?”</p><p>“Um, Jackson has access to my black credit card and a household staff of fifty-- they’re fucking fine.” Lydia says. “I’ll meet you and Boyd outside the McCall castle. Do not go in there without me.”</p><p>#</p><p>The flight had taken a mere hour and a half with the wind on their side. Derek is wearing black leather strides and a black silk tunic, cut deeply at the neck, exposing part of his muscular chest, impressive even for an alpha. Around the prince’s neck is hung a rope of black diamonds and rubies. Derek’s mask is in smooth closely cut black leather with devil horns coming out of each side. Beside Derek in the Bugatti is Boyd, looking petulant and dressed as an angel. </p><p>Their driver pulls up to the riotous castle and immediately the press who are being sectioned off to one side, begin taking pictures and screaming Derek’s name. A beta dressed as a Butterfly greets them at the gates. </p><p>“Prince Derek and Lord Boyd of Halebryne,” She and everyone else within earshot bows or curtsies at Derek respectfully. “Welcome to Churchaste. We are honored by your presence. You are the guests of honor of Lord McCall I believe.” She smiles. </p><p>Lydia appears to Derek’s right, dressed in a skin tight tiger print leather catsuit. Black crystal cat ears are sticking out of her head, and she’s positively glaring at everyone. </p><p>“Princess Lydia,” the butterfly beta smiles at Lydia, “I believe this is the rest of your party. Right this way.” She leads Derek, Boyd and Lydia into the gates before smiling at them again. “Please speak to any of the attendants should your lordships need anything at all.” </p><p>“Lydia,” Derek smiles. “You look--”</p><p>“Shut up, Asshat,” Lydia snarls, grabbing a glass of champagne.</p><p>They walk across the enormous, festive courtyard, into the main palace. Everywhere they look there are heaps of flowers, food, dancers, musicians, and revelers. </p><p>Boyd whistles low, “I wonder who is trying to rub what in whose face with all of this.”</p><p>“Say what you want about Churchaste,” Lydia says. “But they always knew how to throw a good party.”</p><p>“Waste tax dollars, you mean,” Derek snorts. He begins to lead the others further into the party, looking for Lord McCall so they could get their photo op and get the hell out of here. Derek wanted to go home and lay in Stiles’ and his bed, and if he buries his face in one of  Stiles’ shirts all night, that’s his business. </p><p>“Will you keep him in your fucking sightline, Boyd,” Lydia is snapping. </p><p>“I am!” He hears Boyd say back. </p><p>“I don’t trust him here,” Lydia says. </p><p>But he can’t hear the rest of what Lydia and Boyd are saying because through the thousands of scents, the myriad of perfumes, food smells, sweat, and leather, Derek has picked up a scent. At first he thinks his mind is playing tricks on him. At first he thinks he’s really losing it because Stiles has been away from him for less than a day and already he’s smelling the omega everywhere, but the further Derek gets into the party, the more he can smell Stiles, and the more disturbed he gets.</p><p>Lydia or Boyd or both must have noticed the look on his face, because all of a sudden Lydia’s hand, deceptively strong for an alpha her size is on him like an iron bar. </p><p>“What is it?” She demands, looking up at him keenly. </p><p>Derek doesn’t answer, he only looks up at the landing and begins running up the stairs, pushing party-goers out of his way, taking steps two and three at a time.</p><p>“Derek! Get back here!” Lydia is yelling after him. “Boyd, get him!” </p><p>Boyd is quick and as the three of them tumble into a deserted hallway, Boyd attempts to get him under both arms, but Derek is still fighting. He’s single-minded now. </p><p>“What is it?” Boyd asks, trying to get Derek to look at him. “What’s going on, man?” </p><p>“Can’t you smell it?” Derek demands, his eyes a little wild. </p><p>“Derek,” Lydia says in a warning tone. </p><p>“It’s Stiles!” Derek hears his omega’s name come out of his throat as a growl and he desperately tries to throw both alphas off of him. </p><p>Boyd looks at Lydia, “He’s lost it.” </p><p>“No!” Derek growls. “I can smell him all over this house. And there’s something wrong with his scent. He doesn’t smell right.” </p><p>“Derek,” Lydia is trying to catch his eyes, make him look at her, “You need to calm down. It’s okay. Everything is okay.” </p><p>“It’s not!” Derek finally wrenches himself free from his two friends and begins relentlessly pursuing his omega’s scent down the hall again. “He smells awful. And why would they have him here if they weren’t trying to take him? If they weren’t trying to kidnap him?” </p><p>“In the middle of a party?” Boyd yells, trying to keep up. “Derek, be reasonable. Crimes don’t take place around this many cameras.” </p><p>“He smells awful,” Derek keeps repeating. “He smells miserable. He needs me.” </p><p>“Stiles always smells like that, dumbass!” Boyd says. </p><p>But Derek has taken off down a narrow corridor and stopped, panting and looking crazy, in front of a pair of French doors, Boyd and Lydia hot on his trail. Standing in front of the doors are Jackson, looking very odd with a new hair color, and some beta dressed as a fairy. </p><p>“You!” Derek lunges at Jackson, but somehow Lydia is too quick even for him. She steps in front of her omega and bares her teeth at the prince. “Where is he?!” Derek demands. He stares at Jackson, at the fairy. “What have you done with my omega?” </p><p>“Derek,” Jackson holds up a hand. “He’s fine. He’s just meeting with Lord McCall. He’s fine. I promise.” </p><p>“He’s not!” Derek is looking around, smelling the air. “There’s something wrong. He’s hurt. I can tell. He’s hurt and he needs me-- now!” Derek pauses for a long second, scenting the air. Then Stiles’ scent changes from misery to surprise and Derek kicks down the doors in front of him without even knowing he’s done it. </p><p>His omega, his Stiles, is sitting on the couch next to another alpha-- that unworthy bastard, Michael Westly Church and Church has his actual hands on Stiles’ hands and is kissing Stiles’ mouth. And Stiles smells… so strange. Derek has smelled Stiles angry plenty of times now, has smelled him exhausted and sleepy, has smelled him aroused and needy, has smelled him cold and sad, but Derek can’t place what Stiles is smelling like now. It’s a numb despair, a quiet confusion coupled with immense suffering. But the omega isn’t so much raging as he usually is when he’s upset, only bleeding in a quiet, anguished way. And Derek can’t stand any of this. </p><p>He is incandescent with rage. “Get away from him or I will kill you!” He growls at Church, feeling as though something in him is about to leap out of his body, beyond his control, and tear the other prince to shreds.</p><p>Church jumps up instantly in surprise, his paunchy face registering shock at the sight of Derek. He thankfully lets go of Stiles’ hands in the process. Stiles on the other hand doesn’t stand up, doesn’t begin to argue or yell or even try to explain or do any of the things Derek expects from Stiles when the omega is stressed. Instead, Stiles just stays seated on the sofa, looking at Derek with hollow eyes.</p><p>“You,” Derek can hear his voice shaking. “Come here.” </p><p>It’s a clear order from an angry alpha to a disobedient omega, and the tone is clear this is a command aimed at an omega who has committed a serious infraction, one who has maybe even scared his alpha by putting his own safety at risk, and it rings out over the room sharply.</p><p>“Don’t talk to him like that!” Prince Michael says, and Lydia actually hisses at him viciously, showing all her teeth. </p><p>Derek can’t get himself to stop shaking, both of his fists are clenched tightly at his side and he’s afraid if he allows either of his hands to move, he will throw himself on Church and rip his throat out. He focuses his energy solely on his omega, tries to slow his breathing and center himself on Stiles. Stiles, for whatever else he’s done tonight, is not right, is not okay, and he needs something from Derek, and even though Derek is furious with Stiles for his blatant disobedience, Derek’s biggest responsibility still is the omega’s safety. </p><p>Derek knows Stiles has heard his order, but the omega neither obeys or refuses. Derek had expected him to refuse, had expected Stiles to start a fight if he’s honest, had expected to have to carry him kicking and screaming from the castle back to Brightbryne and then spend the next three days negotiating Stiles’ expectations of freedom. But the omega just looks down at his hands for a long minute, his face paler than Derek has ever seen it. </p><p>“Stiles,” Derek says, putting even more alpha authority into his voice. Some part of him is furious (though not surprised) that Stiles is refusing to obey him immediately in front of a rival alpha. “Now.” </p><p>“He doesn’t want to go with you!” Church is saying. </p><p>“Shut up!” Lydia may have actually smacked Prince Michael. “Shut up if you want to live through this.” </p><p>Then Stiles stands up and Derek can tell the omega is shaking. He doesn’t look at Derek, doesn’t look at anyone. He walks over to Derek, his body trembling in a way Derek doesn’t think the omega is even aware of, and then he slowly sinks to his knees in front of the alpha like a man who has been shot in the back. Stiles doesn’t look at Derek, keeps his beautiful eyes trained on the floor, but they look like they aren’t even seeing that. The omega leans his head against Derek’s thigh and turns his face into it in a gesture of submission. Derek watches Stiles close his eyes and wait. </p><p>Derek bends down then, hunched on his own knees, level with the omega, and takes Stiles’ face in his hands. The omega still won’t look at him. Derek presses his forehead to Stiles’ and closes his own eyes, only for a moment, and breathes in Stiles’ smell. </p><p>“We need to go,” He says to Stiles, keeping his voice low, only for his omega’s ears. “You need to come with me out of this place now or I will kill him, Stiles. Do you understand?” </p><p>The omega doesn’t look at him, doesn’t say anything, but he nods against Derek’s touch, trembling. Derek stands up, but the omega stays kneeling, stationary, and pliant. The worry it brings is enough to break through the incredible rage Derek feels. He reaches down, scooping up his omega in his arms in what is now a practiced gesture. Stiles’s body is limp and he doesn’t resist, but he also doesn’t tuck his head into Derek’s chest the way he usually does when Derek picks him up. </p><p>Boyd is talking to one of the betas, “We need a back way out.” Boyd then looks at Church, “Don’t even think about it, man. Just be happy you’re walking away from this still alive.” </p><p>Derek carries his mute, trembling omega down a series of corridors, following the beta until they are met by Jackson’s driver in a private roundabout outside. All of them pile into the SUV, tired and silent save for Lydia giving directions to the driver. Lydia holds Jackson’s hand, and Boyd frantically is texting Derek’s staff. Derek sits in the SUV with both arms wrapped around Stiles. The omega doesn’t look at him, doesn’t look at anything. He just sits up in Derek’s arms, silent, expressionless, and smelling cold. When they pull up to the jet, Derek carries Stiles onboard and they settle on a lounger, in the same position. After the jet takes off, Derek presses on the pressure points in Stiles’ neck, before guiding the omega’s head down to his chest. At first Stiles resists, but then Derek lets out a low growl and the omega meekly allows his head to be maneuvered on to Derek’s warm sternum. Derek then wraps a blanket around both of them wondering how he’s going to possibly fix this.</p>
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<a name="section0022"><h2>22. All the Things I Said</h2></a>
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    <p>Lydia walks over to where Derek is lounging with Stiles asleep in his arms. Jackson is asleep in one of the other cabins, while Boyd is up front, emailing staff. She sits down next to the alpha. Derek’s face is a mess of concern, anger, frustration, and fear. </p><p>“Hey,” she says.</p><p>“Hey,” Derek looks at her. The two alphas sit together in silence for a long moment. </p><p>“Derek, do you remember what I told you when all of this started?” Lydia asks. </p><p>“Stiles is going to fucking hate my facial hair so I better shave now?” Derek asks lowly. </p><p>“Other than that,” Lydia smiles. “Derek, I told you Stiles is nineteen. His whole life, his father ignored him, and before John, his mother conveniently forgot about him up until she died. I told you, Stiles was raised by scholars, historians, debate coaches, and housekeepers-- all of whom told him from the moment he was born that the sole reason he existed was to secure a future for the people of Longfire and produce offspring.” She frowns. “He’s smart and independent and strong.” She takes a breath, “But he’s also young and damaged.”</p><p>“I remember,” Derek says quietly, running his fingers through Stiles’ hair. </p><p>“I told you he’s never had to obey anyone in his life because nobody ever cared enough to try to get him to take care of himself or see if he’s even happy,” Lydia says. “And I told you he would do something like this.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Derek’s voice is soft. “I remember. I also remember you telling me he needs me... and you think that one day he could come to see that too.” </p><p>Lydia closes her eyes. “I just want him to be okay.” She looks at Derek. “And I know you’re patient and I know you can be kind as well as strong. It’s just that… sometimes I don’t know if this life hasn’t already poisoned Stiles the way it did his mother.” </p><p>Derek sits there for a long moment, before he nods. </p><p>“This is a good sign, you know?” Lydia says, smiling sadly. </p><p>“What?” Derek asks. </p><p>Lydia reaches out and pets Stiles’ hair, “You’re angry with him, you’re upset, everyone can smell it on you and yet--” She smiles. “He still trusts you enough to sleep like this.” </p><p>“He knows I would never hurt him,” Derek says, feeling a little defensive. “We might fight, we might still be negotiating how this works, but Stiles knows that at the end of the day I’m his. He knows that I love him and that’s not going to change. And I’m not going to stop trying to fight for him. Trying to make this work.” He looks at Lydia, “I told you I’m not going to give up on him. Not ever.” </p><p>“Yeah,” Lydia says. “That’s what you said.” She shakes her head, “I know that’s how you feel. It’s just… I think sometimes the way we see things as alphas are… not the same as how Stiles sees things.” Lydia sighs. “This is the problem with raising an omega to think of himself as a commodity, in telling him day after day that his value can rise or fall with political poll numbers, and his worth can only be measured in how many lives he negotiates to save in his marriage contract.” She sighs. “Stiles' parents never treated him like he was something of value for his own sake, so Stiles never saw himself that way either. Stiles just thinks he’s worth as much as he can get for himself on the open market.” </p><p>Derek is silent for a long moment, “The only reason I agreed to play these idiotic political games with him is because he wouldn’t even meet with me unless military support was on the table.” Derek takes a deep breath, “...I would have chosen him if he had nothing and nobody.” </p><p>Lydia smiles sadly, "In some ways Stiles has nothing and nobody now." Lydia looks at Derek sadly. The two alphas stay that way for a long moment. “How are you going to punish him?” Lydia breaks the silence. </p><p>“I need to, don’t I?” Derek asks. </p><p>“If you don’t, things will never right themselves between the two of you,” Lydia says. “It’ll just fester and Stiles will get more and more anxious if you don’t clear the air.” She looks at Derek. “You’re the alpha. This is your responsibility. You need to even the scales. If you don’t, he’ll never feel safe or like he knows what to expect from you.” </p><p>Derek sighs, “I can’t stand when he’s unhappy with me.” Derek shakes his head. “What he does to me, the effect he has on me-- it’s like I don’t even recognize the alpha I’ve become.”</p><p>Lydia squeezes Derek’s arm for a brief second of rare contact between alphas, “Stiles only wants you to show him where the ceiling and the floor is. He’s been without an alpha for years and right now, everything is so un-tethered in him, he feels like he’s going to come apart and everyone is just going to stand by and watch him as he does it.” She looks into Derek’s eyes, “He needs you to cut through the chaotic noise in his head that has been screaming at him every hour of every day for the past four years that he better not fuck this up, and give him some kind of peace to hold on to. You need to make him understand that it's okay to let his guard down now because you’re here and the two of you are a team now. And he needs to know you’re always going to be a team.” </p><p>Derek stares out the window, “And if I can’t do any of that?” </p><p>Lydia sighs. “Then he will leave you.”</p>
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<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Back Home</h2></a>
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    <p>Derek carries a sleeping Stiles off the plane, through the tarmac and into the armored SUV that had come to take them back Brightbryne Castle. Jackson and Lydia board another jet headed home to Martinsdale while Boyd and Derek sit silently in the vehicle as it heads towards Derek’s vast estate, Stiles still fast asleep in Derek's arms. Derek can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief as the lights of the familiar palace come into view and they turn into the wide drive. The SUV pulls up and a footman opens the door. Boyd bids Derek goodnight with a significant look at the sleeping omega. </p><p>Derek carries Stiles through one of the many side doors of the palace. He walks him through a foyer and into a private elevator. When they finally reach Derek’s private quarters, the prince carefully drops Stiles on the bed, before turning and locking the door. </p><p>“Wake up,” Derek says, gently caressing Stiles’ cheek. </p><p>The omega blinks awake with sallow cheeks and purple bags under his eyes. He doesn’t say anything, but he also won’t look at Derek. He sits on the edge of their bed like a broken doll, expressionless. </p><p>Derek frowns and walks into the bathroom, turning on the light. He then strips down and gets into the shower. He washes himself quickly, economically, running his usual shampoo and conditioner through his hair. He dries off equally as quickly, turning to brush his teeth before pulling on a pair of black sleeping pants. Derek rinses his mouth, spitting out the remaining toothpaste, and leans over the immense tub, filling it with warm, aromatic water. </p><p>He finds Stiles in the same place he left him, perched on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor.<br/>Derek gently but firmly guides his omega up off the bed and Stiles comes with no resistance. He steers them both into the bathroom before systematically beginning to undress the omega, first his lightweight chain mail tunic, then the undershirt. Derek sets Stiles on the boudoir chair, taking one boot and sock off and the other. Then he stands the omega up again and undoes his belt before pulling Stiles’ leather strides and underwear off. The omega stands before him, silent, his face blank, his eyes distant. Derek checks his omega’s skin all over, looking for signs of bruising or other injury. Satisfied that Stiles seems to be physically unharmed, Derek guides the omega into the tub and begins to wash him with omega soap. The prince works efficiently, scrubbing the boy’s skin with an exfoliating cloth. Then he runs shampoo through Stiles’ hair and watches the bleach blonde color wash away. All this time, Stiles is passive, never really looking at Derek or anything else, but also not resisting. Finally, when Derek is satisfied that Stiles has been thoroughly cleansed, he lets the water out of the tube and wraps a large bath sheet around Stiles. </p><p>He maneuvers the damp omega back into the bedroom sitting him on the bed. He dries Stiles’ body with the dry parts of the sheet before taking it off the boy, and throwing it into the laundry hamper. And Stiles just sits there, naked on their bed, looking blankly into the wall. </p><p>“Stiles,” Derek says, leaning over in front of him. “Are you listening to me?” </p><p>Stiles eyes flicker towards Derek’s but he doesn’t say anything. </p><p>Derek places a gentle but firm hand under the omega’s chin. “You will answer me when I speak to you, Stiles.” Derek frowns, “Now, are you listening to me?” This time Stiles actually opens his mouth but nothing comes out. “Tell me, yes, Stiles.” Derek says, tightening his hold on Stiles’ chin.</p><p>“Yes,” Stiles’ voice is small and dry. </p><p>“Do you know why I’m upset with you?” Derek asks, looking into his omega’s dull eyes, trying to keep them focused on his. </p><p>Stiles blinks. </p><p>“I want an answer, Stiles,” Derek says, his voice deeper. </p><p>“I went to see Prince Michael,” Stiles answers, his voice dull.</p><p>“No,” Derek says, leveling his eyes at his omega. “I’m angry because you didn’t tell me you were going to see Prince Michael.” Derek sits back on his heels for a moment, running his fingers through his hair as the reality of what he saw tonight hits him, and he has to pause for a moment to contain himself. “If you wanted to see him we could have talked about it. But to sneak out behind my back?” Derek looks at Stiles. The omega’s face doesn’t move. Derek cups Stiles’ cheek with one hand. “Was it something I did?” He asks, unable to stop himself. “Is there something you need that I haven’t given you?” Derek’s head is reeling again and he knows he should keep composure, but he can’t stop himself. “You let him kiss you--” Derek stops at this, his voice broken. He looks at his omega, horrified, “He was touching you. What did I do to make you let him do that?” He pets Stiles’ hair away from his expressionless face, “Tell me. Please, I need to understand.” </p><p>Numbly, Stiles puts one clammy hand against Derek’s and removes it from his face, “I’m sorry,” He says, and his voice sounds both low and frail. “Can we be done now?” </p><p>“What?” Derek is instantly concerned at the dead tone of Stiles’ voice. He searches the omega’s blank face.</p><p>“I’m sorry,” Stiles repeats, his voice a little pleading now, “I’ll be good. I just want to be done now, okay? Can I please be done now?”</p><p>“What are you talking about, Stiles?” Derek has never heard the omega’s voice like this before and the distress scent coming off Stiles is like nothing Derek has ever smelled. </p><p>“I just want to be done,” Stiles says, tears beginning to run down his face. “I don’t want to-- I don’t want--” the omega is sobbing in quiet waves now and Derek is alarmed. “I want to go home.” The omega hiccups.  “Can I please go home?” </p><p>Derek looks down at the omega, “Stiles, it’s okay.”</p><p>He tries to touch the omega, but Stiles is shaking and crying silent tears and his eyes are very far away. Derek gets on the bed and pulls Stiles’ quivering body close to his. But the omega won’t settle, his muscles are too stiff, top rigid and upset and he just sits there awkwardly on Derek’s lap, shaking, tears running down his face. </p><p>“Stiles, you need to calm down,” Derek says, trying to rub soothing circles against the omega’s shaking back. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Shhhh,” He tries to sooth the omega, “I’m here.” </p><p>The omega crumples in on himself, burying his face in his knees, his arms wrapped around himself as if in protection. He just sits like that, hunched over and shaking with silent sobs. </p><p>“Stiles,” infinitely concerned, Derek is trying to maneuver the omega closer to his chest, but all of Stiles’ muscles are tense and painfully contracted, and the omega is hard to move. “It’s okay. Come on,” He pulls the boy’s naked form up and tries to stretch Stiles out next to his body, but Stiles just curls up in a fetal position on his side and shakes. </p><p>“Stiles,” Derek rubs a hand down the omega’s back, reaching over to pull the omega’s freezing body close to his. “What’s wrong with you? Are you okay?” Derek wraps his arms around the omega, trying to rub warmth into them. </p><p>“I’m sorry,” the omega whispers. “I’ll be good. I promise.” </p><p>Derek doesn’t know what’s wrong with his omega, he only knows that Stiles smells of misery, panic, and fear. He desperately wants to calm the omega, to make him stop smelling this way. He pets Stiles’ arms and chest, strokes his hair. The omega doesn’t seem to even notice him there. Stiles just lays there shaking and crying. </p><p>“You’re going to make yourself sick,” Derek says soothingly, “You’re okay, it’s going to be okay. Just tell me what’s wrong, baby. Are you hurt? Show me where it hurts.” </p><p>Stiles hiccups, closing his eyes, “I get scared.” Stiles' voice is small and shaky. “I’m scared.” </p><p>“Of what?” Derek murmurs into his omega’s ear. </p><p>“When I wake up alone,” Stiles says, his voice quiet and small, “You’re always gone.” The omega’s body is racked with tears. “I just want to go home.” </p><p>“Oh Stiles,” Derek turns the omega so he’s facing Derek’s chest and pulls him in even closer, into his warmth, rubbing the omega’s back and neck. “My pretty boy, you’re okay. I’ve got you now. I’m here.” </p><p> “Please just let me go home,” Stiles’ cries are muffled by Derek’s chest, as the alpha strokes his omega helplessly, unsure of how to convince him that he’s already home.</p>
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<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Rest</h2></a>
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    <p>It’s the early hours of the morning and Stiles is finally too exhausted to feel anything but quiet, subdued, and... he’s not sure-- maybe he’s finally crossed over into that point where he can’t feel anything. What a glorious possibility-- to discover that after all these months and years of fear and loneliness and panic, he’s finally lost the ability to give a shit? That would likely be too good to be true, wouldn’t it? </p><p>He knows Derek isn’t asleep. The room is completely dark except for the fire in the grate and Stiles is resting on Derek, his naked body pressed up against the alpha’s bare chest. Derek had let Stiles cry against his warm, perfect-smelling skin, holding him close and making soothing noises until Stiles had been too tired to do it anymore. When the omega’s sobs had finally stopped, Derek had left him in the bed, only for a moment, to retrieve a cold bottle of water. He’d come back to Stiles’ shivering frame, and had blanketed the omega with his solid warmth again, urging the omega to drink in soft, coaxing tones. Too tired to fight, Stiles had drank it down in small gulps like a bird, while Derek had held the bottle, rubbing Stiles’ back in slow circles. Derek had also tried to feed him orange slices, but Stiles had refused them, ducking his head into Derek’s neck, afraid he’d be sick if he tried to eat anything. </p><p>Derek has one arm cementing Stiles to his bare torso, and his other is pulling one of Stiles’ hands up to his mouth so he can kiss and blow on the omega’s fingers aimlessly. Derek has wrapped  the softest down comforter around them, and next to Derek’s body, Stiles is finally warm. Every few moments, Stiles rubs his nose against Derek’s skin, just so he can smell the alpha and be sure of him.</p><p>Shit though. He’s exhausted and probably going to have to confront some incredibly unflattering truths about his situation sooner rather than later. He can smell how tired Derek is as well, but also can sense a deep calm spreading slowly in the alpha, like a low burning campfire smoke.</p><p>Yawning, Stiles pushes himself off Derek in the darkness, sitting up. The alpha sits up with him, looping one strong arm around Stiles’ shoulder and the other around his waist, Derek pulls Stiles back into his warm chest. The alpha nuzzles his face into the side of Stiles’ neck, brushing his lips under Stiles’ jaw, and then kissing the omega’s ear. </p><p>“What are you doing?” Derek murmurs against Stiles’ skin, trying to pull the omega back down into a reclining position again. </p><p>“Getting up,” Stiles says, trying to pull himself away again. </p><p>“Why?” Derek asks, keeping his hold around the omega. He kisses Stiles’ bare shoulder. “It’s late. If you need something, I’ll get it. You need to rest.”</p><p>“Yeah,” Stiles says, trying to elbow Derek off of him, and crawl out of the alpha’s impossibly strong, warm grasp. “I don’t think so.” He manages to get loose from Derek and rolls off the bed, wincing. His muscles are cramping and everything hurts. </p><p>Stiles starts rummaging through drawers, and pulling out socks while looking for his phone. Derek is staring at him like he’s turned purple and sprouted horns.</p><p>“Baby, what are you doing?” Derek’s voice is a little more awake now. Derek shifts over to the edge of the bed. “It’s three in the morning, Stiles. Get back in bed.” </p><p>Stiles doesn’t even look at the alpha, he’s too busy trying to find where in the hell they’ve hidden his shoes. He’s halfway through another drawer when he realizes he’s still naked and tries to locate some underwear in the dark. All he really manages to do is pull on one of Derek’s t-shirts over his head, and then the alpha is next to him, large and radiating heat and smelling overly concerned. Derek has both of Stiles’ hands in one of his massive ones and he’s stopping Stiles. </p><p>“Hey… hey--hey!” Derek is trying to catch Stiles’ eyes and, failing that, he reaches up and cups Stiles’ face, making the omega look at him. Stiles is panting, his face pale. “Slow down. What are you doing, Stiles?” </p><p>“I’m leaving,” Stiles says, trying and failing to wrench himself away from the alpha’s grasp. </p><p>“No.” Derek’s voice is calm but absolute. </p><p>“I can’t stay here,” Stiles says, pulling harder now. </p><p>“It’s three in the morning.” Derek says, his voice leaving no room for argument. “And we’ve had a really long day. You’re going back to bed.” </p><p>Stiles is refusing to look at Derek. He bites his lip. “I told you, I want to go home.” </p><p>“You are home,” Derek says. “You’re in our estate, in our suite, in our room and you’re going to come back and sleep in our bed. Now, come on, you’re over-exhausted-- I can smell it on you. It’s time to sleep.”</p><p>This time Stiles really does glare at Derek, “You can’t make me stay.” </p><p>Derek sighs, “Stiles, I have a literal custody order approved by Parliament that says I can absolutely make you stay. And I know you know we both know that.” </p><p>Stiles pauses, freezes for a long moment, then he looks up and says, “They’ll never let you keep me.” </p><p>“What are you talking about?” Derek asks, staring at the omega. </p><p>“Parliament,” Stiles says, steeling himself. “They never wanted me with you in the first place.” He looks down. “I don’t know what on earth I was thinking.” </p><p>“What do you mean?” Derek stares at the omega. </p><p>Stiles looks back up at him, his eyes flashing, “I mean that this was a mistake, Derek. And I never should have come to you before I went to Church in the first place. It was a mistake and tonight proves it.” Stiles is angry now. He hates feeling like this, hates feeling trapped, hates feeling the low, continuous ache in him that is demanding that he fall on his knees in front of Derek and beg for forgiveness from the alpha, beg to be held and made safe. “Church offered me everything I have ever wanted. I’m going to go to him.” </p><p>Derek looks at him like Stiles has slapped him. The alpha freezes for a moment, stricken. But then Derek recovers, growling. He pulls Stiles towards him, no longer messing around. He picks the omega up, his large hands firm and strong against the omega’s wrists, but careful. </p><p>“That’s enough.” Derek throws Stiles over his shoulder like he weighs nothing. Derek gets back into bed, and deposits the omega on the mattress carefully. “I’ve heard enough--”</p><p>“Derek!” Stiles tries to kick out, but Derek is holding him down on the mattress with one strong arm and is pulling a pair of padded handcuffs out of the drawer from one of the night stands. With an efficient gesture, he secures Stiles to the iron bed  frame, cuffing the omega in. </p><p>“You fucking son of a bitch!” Stiles yells, kicking and writhing against the mattress. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” </p><p>“I’m not going to listen to you go on about anymore bullshit involving that beta Churchaste is trying to pass off as a potential mate for you,” Derek says evenly, his voice calm and sure. “He’s not even half the alpha you need and we both know it. Now you can lay here and kick and scream all night if you want, or you can be good for me and go to sleep and we’ll talk about this like two reasonable people in the morning, but either way I’m not going to have you sitting here saying things you don’t mean because you’re scared again and you don’t know how to deal with it.” </p><p>Stiles is still kicking and fighting at the cuffs unsuccessfully, squirming and glaring at Derek. Derek leans over and puts a strong, warm hand on Stiles’ thigh, trying to gentle him. Derek rubs his hand up and down Stiles’ kicking inner thigh soothingly, looking at the omega with calm eyes. </p><p>“If you’re angry or upset about something you can just tell me, and we’ll talk about it,” He says in a low even voice. “You can’t just lash out every time you get upset. We have two kingdoms to run and it’s going to work a lot better if we talk about things we disagree on when we’re both well-rested, instead of you throwing a tantrum every time you feel like you’re losing control or you’re confused about something.” </p><p>“Let me go!” Stiles screeches, kicking and bucking off the bed, still held down by the handcuffs. “Goddamn it!” </p><p>Derek is laying on his side, watching Stiles kick and lash out with calm alpha eyes. The omega is still angry. Stiles can feel the heat pooling in his stomach, tensing his muscles and flushing through his veins. Derek isn’t returning any of his anger. The alpha is just looking at him calmly as he flails against the bed. Stiles is panting and whining, but he sinks down on the mattress, too tired to buck up any more. </p><p>Derek reaches out and begins to rub circles on Stiles’ heaving abdomen. “It’s okay,” the alpha says soothingly, “It’s okay, Stiles.” Derek’s hand slips down, over Stiles’ hip bones, stroking his skin. “You’re okay.” </p><p>Stiles doesn’t look at him, he only turns his head, looking away from the alpha. Derek continues to pet his stomach, his chest in soothing motions, running his broad thumbs along Stiles’ ribs and under his pectorals, and down his chest. Stiles is panting, but he isn’t fighting anymore. </p><p>“That’s my good boy,” Derek says into Stiles’ ear. “I’m sure you’re sleepy,” Stiles doesn’t move, he only stares at the wall with dead eyes. Derek kisses him on the cheek and then the neck. “Do you think you can rest for me?” </p><p>Stiles glares at him and Derek smiles, ruefully, “You want me to rub your neck?” </p><p>Stiles feel irritated, hot, humiliated, angry, frustrated, needy, and aching all at the same time. The tense meat of his neck and shoulders are killing him. Miserably. he nods at Derek. </p><p>“Okay, Baby,” Derek says, carefully maneuvering the omega on to his stomach, turning Stiles’ head so he can breath on his side. Derek begins working his warm, strong hands into the knots in Stiles’ neck and back. </p><p>“That’s it, my pretty boy,” Derek sighs in Stiles’ ear. “You rest. Just let me make you feel good.” He hits a particularly bad knot and Stiles moans. “I know,” Derek coos, “It hurts but it’ll feel better when I’m done, Baby.” Derek leans over and kisses Stiles in between his shoulder blades. “I’m here. You can go to sleep. I’m not going anywhere. That’s right, Stiles, close your eyes.” Derek digs back into the knot and Stiles groans. “Is this the only place it hurts?” Derek asks. </p><p>Stiles nods and Derek kisses his neck. </p><p>“Okay,” Derek says. “Go back to sleep, Stiles. You need rest.”</p>
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